


What's Your Game

by SeahorseWithLaptop



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeahorseWithLaptop/pseuds/SeahorseWithLaptop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sehun likes to smoke and drink but what he really loves is feeling a nice deck of cards shifting between his fingers. When he brings the beauty who sleeps in the subway home one night, he had no idea what's waiting for him—doesn't know what sort of world the hustler will draw him into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Evans Poolroom didn't look so strange on the outside: big oak doors set into a giant stone building with a skyscraper built right on top of it. But the moment he stepped inside the entranceway Jongin's shoulders relaxed and he took a deep breath. It smelled like smoke and alcohol and cologne, but not too much. The room was perfectly gentlemanly and looked like it came right out of the sixties. Home.

It was early. Jongin and Junmyeon did a lap, but there were only two or three people there and they didn't seem up for a game this early. But Jongin took his time anyway, passing a finger lightly over the surface of a table, rolling an eight ball from one end to the other in a straight line, feeling its levelness, its sturdiness, watching the 8-ball sink heavy in in the pocket and roll back to the front under the table.

"Well, I can see why he operates here, if it's all true," he found himself murmuring. Junmyeon's hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he looked nervous. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I don't know, I've just got a feeling, you know? You remember those stories I used to tell ya about Foggy, who used to play back in California? Damn, this feels like where he used to work. Where I fell in love with pool." The man's eyes snapped up to Jongin's face. "You've been deprived of a single good game all your life, and a good table, and a good crowd too, for that matter."

Jongin gave a barking, rough laugh. "And a good haul too. I've been deprived of a good haul." He leaned in towards his partner. "How much do ya think I'll make tonight, huh? A thousand? Five thousand? In one night?"

Junmyeon huffed at Jongin's smiling face. "You could make nothing. Listen, I'm aware it's a foreign concept to you, but you could lose."

"Nah." Jongin rolled his shoulders a little. "I think I'm going to introduce myself as Jongin. We're not deceiving anybody, not here. I want my name on the tips of their tongues.  _My_ name."

"I was just about to suggest it," Junmyeon smiled, the corners of his eyes quirking together.

Jongin smiled and clapped his partner on the shoulder. "You gonna stay here? I might go out and explore. I"ll get into my head if I hang around here all day waiting for the sun to get the hell down. And I've only been to Chicago once before."

"Nah, I"m an old man, remember?" Junmyeon patted Jongin's back absently. "Just don't come back drunk." At Jongin's look, he rolled his eyes. " _Or_ high. Please, you'll give me a heart attack at this rate just watchin ya."

Jongin ruffled his partner's hair affectionately. "You won't get a heart attack, not when I still need you to hustle with me." He winked as the bell rang to signal his exit.

Stopping just outside the big oak doors, Jongin realized he had no idea where in Chicago he really was. Junmyeon had driven and he hadn't really been paying attention to the scenery. He was also a little overwhelmed by the legitimacy the poolroom exuded. Half of his charm, he liked to think, was his ability to bullshit, a staple in nearly every hustler, especially since it was a dying profession.

He was tempted to just take out his phone to see where he was, but he decided against it, instead playing eenie meenie miny mo in his head and picking a random direction, relishing the feel of pavement passing under his soles after so many hours in the car.

He eventually figured out he was walking towards the lake, but he didn't find any fault in that. It was fall, perfect weather for his jacket, and he was wearing new shoes. When he got tired, he ducked into a museum, paying quickly with a practiced flick of bills. 

He was promptly barraged by white, and he wanted to laugh and at the same time curse the damn minimalists who had, for some reason, decided that embellishment was taboo. The pieces themselves were beautiful, and as Jongin realized his legs were tired, he noticed more intricacy, slowing until he eventually sank onto a bench beside a kid with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his face.

Part of Jongin wanted to say something; if it was rude to wear your hat inside, it most certainly was rude to wear your hood inside. Art museums ought to make every man a gentleman. But he kept his mouth shut and instead began to daydream about that night, about the money and the booze and the glimmer of the lights and the sound of the balls knocking together.

"Where're you from?" Jongin asked idly. He could be antisocial, but when he was around people, he usually wasn't. Force of habit. He didn't like sitting close to somebody and not knowing their name.

"Oh," came a deep voice from inside the hood, "Around. You?"

Jongin hesitated. "Yeah. Around. I'm Jongin."

"Sehun."

"Say, Sehun, are ya any good at cards?"

"Am I good at cards?"

"Yeah, are you good at cards? Can you play cards is what I mean."

"Sure I can." 

"Think we'd be in the shitter if we played a round right here, under our fine friend?" He gestured to the abstract construction that looked something like an elephant.

"Do you always ask strangers to play cards with you?" The hood turned a bit and Jongin got a glimpse of a straight nose and milky white skin.

"Only in art museums." Jongin smirked. He was rewarded with a breathy laugh as the boy turned to face him, his face still a little shadowed, but at least in sight. Jongin tried not to stare too much because the guy looked like he'd been drawn and breathed to life with perfect features.

He took out his card deck and his pack of smokes, realizing belatedly that there was no way he could smoke in the museum. They didn't talk very much more, deciding on a game fluidly and then contenting themselves with the quiet shuffle of cards and the occasional sharp breath when somebody won.

Gin was their game, but they didn't bet or anything. Jongin was saving his betting self for that night, for that old pool room, for that perfect pool table. Instead Jongin mostly watched Sehun's hands, thin and dexterous, as they flipped the cards absently like they were best friends. Finally, after being beaten a few times, Jongin sighed.

"Got any tricks you can do with these? You're pretty comfortable with them, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I've got a few." Sehun gave a small smile and shuffled the deck in some beautiful, evanescent way that Jongin couldn't begin to understand. 

"Hey, you're pretty good. You should be at the casino or something." Jongin cringed at his own words; he sounded slimy like that and he didn't even know how old this kid was.

"How old are ya, anyways?"

"Just turned twenty," came the reply. Sehun's eyes were intent on his hands and the cards, his eyelashes casting long shadows against his cheeks. They played a little more and then Jongin decided Junmyeon would be getting antsy; it was four in the afternoon, which meant he'd been here for three or four hours already. Best to get his mind off those long lashes and long fingers and get himself ready to play pool. 

Sehun looked up at him when he rose, half his face fully illuminated, and Jongin swore. "Fuck, you're not gay by chance—you know what, no, nevermind. I gotta go." He was playing with his pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. 

"Seriously, though," he added as he turned and took his sunglasses from where they hung on his shirt. "You should do something with that talent. It could take you far. Keep the cards." And he began the long walk back to the Evans.

It was more crowded when he got there—smokier, too—and the bar seemed to have opened early, or maybe it was just always open. Jongin found Junmyeon immediately, who looked him up and down discreetly. He seemed suprised. "Not even a little fucked up. Impressive."

Jongin grinned and shrugged. "The night has not yet begun, my friend. Listen, I've been thinking about it. I've been thinking about it all afternoon." The crowd was actually thick enough that there was a crowd of men shuffling all around them, and they weren't speaking quietly. "I'm going to make fifty thousand dollars tonight. Not five, not ten.  _Fifty thousand_ , Junmyeon, can you believe it? I'm still getting over it myself."

Junmyeon just shook his head.

"Looking for some action?" The voice came from behind Jongin, so he stood from his slump against the bar to look at the man. 

"Maybe I am," he replied. 

"You're looking for Chicago Shortie." The boy grinned. He was short himself, with jet-black hair and sparkling, mischievous eyes. "You know he's the best in the business. The best player in the country. No one's ever beaten him, but you can try for sure." 

"Is he around?" Jongin tried not to sound too eager.

"Oh, he'll be around. Comes in every night, bout five o'clock." 

"How will I—"

"Oh, he'll find you. You're Kim Jongin, right? You've earned a proper name for yourself too." Then the boy was gone without even introducing himself. Jongin went back to the table he'd fallen in love with the first time he'd walked through those doors and played a few games to loosen up, earning the table for himself in the process. It felt strange, not having any front at first, just playing his game right from the start.

Winning the game from the beginning.

Then the crowd parted and his table seemed to suck men and women towards it. Jongin straightened self-consciously. Through the crowd came an admittedly small man, though not as short as Jongin had imagined him in his mind, with huge eyes and a three-piece suit. It was unmistakably, through how he carried himself or his comfort in his surroundings, Chicago Shortie.

"Hi." Shortie came right up to him and shook his hand, looking him right in the eyes. Damn, his eyes were pretty. It was distracting. "You're Kim Jongin, right?" His voice was velvety and Jongin felt like he was meeting the messiah of his sport.

"And you're Chicago Shortie." Jongin flashed him his best smirk, and to his credit, the guy looked at lest a little taken aback. 

"I take it you're here to play me." Shortie raised an eyebrow.

"Y-y-you'd be right." Jongin licked his lips. He was usually much smoother. Actually, interaction in general generally wasn't much of a problem for him.

Shortie spread his arms. "Welcome to my office, then," he intoned. "What'll we start it at? Three hundred?" Jongin knew it wasn't much—they both knew it wasn't much, but they needed to get a feel for the game.

"Sure." Shortie shrugged off his jacket and gave it to the coat check man, and Jongin gave him his as well, feeling underdressed in just a white cotton t-shirt. 

He felt it respectful to break first. As a nod to his respect, Shortie soundly beat him that game, and swiftly too, but Jongin jut watched with utter fascination. He played pool like it was some kind of dance, stretching his small frame across the table, flicking the cue just so, tilting his head and slanting his eyes in a way that made him look like he was glaring at the balls. Astigmatism?

Jongin had played professionals, sure. Mostly what he and Junmyeon had was a small racket, moving from the northeast to the south to the west hustling small, back pool rooms. They went in for a week or so, made a couple hundred a night, and then moved on. But occasionally Junmyeon lined up a match with someone who was known for what they did. He was always excited, he always hoped—again and again—that maybe the next one would give him a run for his money.

They never did. But Shortie was the  _best_.

Junmyeon didn't exactly have the same predicament. As Jongin's manager, he just lined up the next week, decided where they were going to go, and booked the hotel. He also managed the money. 

His heart was beating in his chest and his adrenaline was pumping through his veins and Shortie just gave a small smile and won the next game too. It wasn't until the fourth game that Shortie missed a shot and his eyes flicked up to Jongin, that same smile playing across his lips. As if he were inviting Jongin to join in now that Jongin had seen what Shortie could do. That being, well, everything. And more.

Jongin licked his lips again and pushed himself out of his seat, lining up his first shot. He had to be creative, but this was what he was  _built_ for. The hours he'd spent playing pool eclipsed the hours he'd spent doing anything else, ever. Plus he had talent.

So he won the first game, and his arm only felt a little stiff. But he missed on the second game and now he didn't even what to think about how much money they'd lost. A thousand at least, but he just kept betting more and more. It was too important.

But matches like this could be long.

"Hey Junmyeon." His voice sounded quiet and steady, even to himself. "Get me a drink, will ya." Junmyeon looked at him a moment but didn't say anything, just gave Jongin the money for the next game and went over to the bar. Jongin waited for him to come back and took a long draft of the burning liquor. 

With the drink burning in his stomach, he rotated his arm once and suddenly he felt calm, and he felt the rhythm rush into his body all at once. With it came all the confidence he'd had to manufacture before. "It's a thousand this time," said Shortie, with that soft voice. Jongin had trouble believing he could keep his voice so steady when he was winning by so much.

But then, he didn't know what was about to happen. Pool was a mind game above all else. "Five hundred it is, then," Jongin replied, looking up at the clock. It read seven pm. "Fifty thousand dollars," he said, a little loudly. "Damn, I'm sorry this is the first time you're going to lose in a long time, probably. I feel loose."

And he did, and he felt sharp, and the alcohol felt good burning in his gut, and the cigarette burning at his mouth. Oh, he executed some beautiful shots. Jongin liked to figure himself a dancer that way. After a while Shortie began to look kind of flustered. But it took a long  _time_  to earn all that money back, and by the time they were even it was ten o'clock. 

It all began to run together. Shots, games, everything was fuzzy and warm in Jongin's head, all the same, all about the clack of the balls, the thunk when they sank in the hole, and Junmyeon sat quietly by, and collected the bills, counted them calmly, folded them up, and put them away. An old man had been sitting right in front, right next to the table, right in front of the crowd, and he was watching Jongin with a discomforting fascination. 

Shortie had given that man his money, when he'd been winning, and now it was that man forking it over. "Do you mind?" Jongin said, leaning across the table for his hundred thousandth shot or something like that that night. He was beginning to feel what you'd call tipsy, and that man's constant presence was distracting. "Do you mind moving a little?"

The man looked down at him through his glasses, his mouth tight, his eyes beady. Then he stood, picked up his chair, and moved it about an inch, and sat right back down. Jongin huffed but sank his ball anyway.

The way that poolroom was built, not a single ray of sunlight got in. They had no idea what time it was unless they looked at the clock. They were running on booze and nicotine. Jongin felt himself getting slower and slower. It  _had_ to be morning. His thumbs were getting sore from playing. This, _this_ man was the best player in the country. No—he was. No. He was getting himself and Shortie all confused.

The clock struck seven am and they took a break. Jongin collapsed into his chair beside Junmyeon, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How much are we up, pop?"

Junmyeon yawned. He seemed to be fighting sleep just as much as Jongin was. They'd been up for over twenty-four hours, and a majority of that was playing pool. Shortie had disappeared into the bathroom. Jongin leaned low over his seat to nudge the door to the bathroom open—it was wood, just like the rest of the place.

Shortie was drying his face—he'd  _washed_ it, the prim thing, and run a comb through his hair as well. When he came out, he picked up his vest and buttoned it right back up, then turned to Jongin.

"Junmyeon," Jongin said, and he could distantly hear his speech a little slurred. "Junmyeon, get me a drink, will ya." Jongin closed his eyes until a cold glass bottle was placed into his hands. He swayed in his seat a moment before putting it to his lips and letting the burning liquid send him further into oblivion. Was it sad that his life had lead up to this, and he was feeling beaten, and he was feeling like there was no point to it? 

He stood, a little shakily. "Oh, Shortie." Jongin placed a hand on Shortie's shoulder. "You look all pretty, Shortie, all ready for the new day. Ten, why don't you run out and get us some breakfast." He placed some bills into the kid's hand.

"Jongin, we're done here. The game's over. We're up sixty five thousand. That's more than we came for, ok? You've won. It's over." It sounded like a plea.

"No." Jongin shook his head, clenching his jaw. He knew the unwritten rules. He had principle. "It's not over until Shortie says it's over. Is it over, Shortie?" Shortie just looked at him, and then at the man sitting at the corner. The man's look sucked the hope from Jongin like a sponge.

"Well then," said Jongin. "It's not over." And he pushed himself up from his chair with no small amount of effort. 

Shortie earned every cent back until they were split even. 

"Jongin!" A hand slapped Jongin's cheek and Jongin forced his eyes open. "Come on, Jongin, let's get to the hotel. It's over."

Jongin looked up at Shortie, who he assumed had just won the final game. "It was good going," said the man, and Jongin could see that his eyes were drooping a little too. "It really was. You're an amazing player."

They shook hands again, and the rest was a blur. Jongin regretted not being able to talk with Shortie any more: he viewed him with a reverence of a fanboy, and an interview was the dream. He really did think Shortie was beautiful. Alluring. Instead, he passed out in the back of the car and trusted Junmyeon to get them back to the hotel and into bed.


	2. Starbucks Strangers

Somehow, he didn't look like he slept in the subway. Somehow, his skin stayed glowing and his hair stayed looking soft. Sehun watched from the corner of the Starbucks as he emerged from the pavement and climbed the stairs to the gym, where he knew from days of careful study that the guy would change his clothes and maybe take a shower.

Sure enough, he emerged with damp hair and a different shirt, even if his jeans and leather jacket seemed the same. He didn't go right out like he usually did, though. Instead, he stood in line for a cup of coffee and even left a tip at the counter. Sehun wasn't the type to shrink back on himself, but he thought about it as the man's eyes scanned the coffee shop. It was empty, probably because it was the evening and no one went for coffee in the evening.

He forced his eyes back to his book. He really did have to finish it for class tomorrow. That's why he'd come here in the first place—he'd thought this particular Starbucks would be a sanctuary where he could read the whole thing straight through.

"Hi." Sehun looked up, his heart perking up in his ribcage, ears forward. The stranger had come right up to sit caty-corner to him, at the table next to his.

"Hiya."

"You been practicing those cards? What're you reading a dull book for, anyway? You waiting a hot date or something?" The stranger's body was totally relaxed, draped against the chair like a statue made of water.

He wasn't really a stranger. Sehun had met the man once, in an art museum. The other had whipped out a deck of cards, played with him for a few hours, than vanished into the setting sun. Sehun didn't even know his name. He was still  _stranger_  in his mind.

"Nah." He tugged his hood a little farther over his face, rummaging in his bag. "Here, at least now I can give your cards back. I have my own."

"What, are they not good enough or something? They not up to par?" The stranger grinned.

"They're fine. They're nice cards, actually. I didn't get your name, you know."

"I didn't give it to you, Sehun." The stranger stuck out his hand. "Kim Jongin. Nice to meet ya." Sehun took his hand and Jongin squeezed it once, his hand rough and warm. "If you're not here for a date what're you here for?"

"I'm here to read a dull book." Sehun tried not to smile. He'd never met anyone so unobtrusively direct before.

The stranger scoffed, his eyes traveling lazily over Sehun's hand, the book, and then up to Sehun's face. It was only because of years of practice that Sehun didn't fidget with his hood; he could tell how much of his face it covered now by feel. "You don't even have a drink. Here, let me buy you a drink. Can't be caffeinated though. You just turned twenty, after all." Jongin's eyes sparkled and Sehun rolled his eyes. The few facts that had passed between them. Sehun's age. Sehun wondered if he should have lied.

"Are you sure you can afford it? You live in a locker upstairs, you know." Sehun's voice was gentle, and a little seductive, but not judgmental. It had the hint of a smile in it.

Jongin looked at him a tense moment, then he grinned, looking away and licking his lips before looking back at Sehun. "Well look, I'm just trying to be a gentlemen, I really can pay for it." He nodded. "I can pay for it. I take it you live..." he licked his lips again, " _around_ here, too?"

The second thing that had passed between them.  _Where do you live? Around._  

Jongin stood, one fluid motion, and ordered Sehun a hot chocolate, placing it before Sehun but then snatching it back. "Wait a minute, you know what, hot chocolate has sugar in it, too. Did you know sugar is supposedly more addicting than cocaine? Something I learned today."

"I'd still like it, please and thank you." Sehun raised an eyebrow, putting his book down and dog-earing his place. It wasn't worth it anyway. He was never going to go to class in the first place.

"You know what, what time is it? It's what, eleven at night? Well, if you're studying, then we need a snack! Ah—" Jongin held up a dismissive hand when Sehun opened his mouth. "It would be different if you were here to practice with your cards. I would have professional respect for that. But a dull book needs considerable dressing up." And Jongin was up again, purchasing a muffin, responding with an emphatic  _yes_ when he was asked if he wanted it warmed up.

Sehun kept trying to dispel his small smile, but it clung to his lips anyways. When Jongin sat in the booth next to him, Sehun wondered why for a split second but then he just smiled a little bigger when Jongin leaned his head against the wall and his breathing immediately slowed.

The barista was giving him looks; the muffin was ready. Sehun sighed, rising and padding over. He quietly paid for the muffin himself and thanked the barista before taking it back to the table. He didn't much feel like disturbing the sleeping stranger; his eyelashes seemed longer when his eyes were closed and his face softened. 

He'd been right, anyway: the book did taste better with a muffin to read. Or wait. The book read better with a muffin to taste. Whatever.

* * *

"You again. Well, I'm beginning to suspect that you might actually live around here."

Sehun looked up at Jongin, pulling his hood forward. Jongin was pouting. "You know you could have woken me up. It would have been perfectly alright. You didn't have to pay for that all on your own—" 

"It's fine," Sehun replied chuckling, and at his laugh Jongin visibly relaxed, draping himself across the same seat he'd occupied the previous night.

"I see your activities tonight are much more suitable," Jongin said in that easy manner, indicating the cards easily passing their way through Sehun's hands. Sehun looked down at them, shuffling them a little and then flipping a few of them, just to impress Jongin.

"What are your activities here, then?" Sehun asked. 

"I'd say you probably have a pretty good idea."

"I certainly don't, all I see is you coming and going! So working the night shift is out of the question, at least." Sehun idly dealt Jongin a hand, only realizing he'd done so when Jongin picked up the cards. 

"Well, you've got more than half of it." Jongin flashed a smile and winked. "Working, in fact, is out of the question. Then again, you could say I'm working just as hard as anyone."

"What is it that you do that requires you to live in the locker upstairs?" Sehun's voice sounded curious and a little amused.

"Oh, well see, my job requires some wandering. Yeah, and I found I'd be staying in town a little longer than I wanted to. What about you, what do you do?"

Sehun shrugged, playing his turn. "I go to college."

Jongin frowned. "Well, I suppose that makes sense."

"Why do I feel like you don't believe me?"

"Why do I feel like I shouldn't believe you?"

Sehun dropped his cards; he'd won. He told himself he should lose the next round; he didn't want the stranger to feel bad, not when he was the only other warm body in the whole Starbucks.

"Fine," he replied, his voice a little quieter, his eyes lowered. "I go to college sometimes. Sometimes I stay in my apartment and drink. Sometimes I go out and drink."

"Ah." Jongin leaned back in his chair, his eyes shining with that same friendliness, but also a little recognition. They were on the same playing field now, he and Jongin. Bums. Sehun had never witnessed two people confess their loserness in such comfortable, amiable conversation before.

"You can win every time if you want, you know," Jongin said as if he'd read Sehun's mind. Sehun's mouth dropped open a little bit but Jongin just smirked. "I won't be offended, and I'm not scared off that easy."

Sehun idly wondered why he ever saw Jongin go up to his locker at all. Jongin could stay in a different apartment every night, if he went to a club for an hour. No—less—ten minutes. "Am I to believe that you really live around here, too?" Jongin brought up the subject again, and Sehun sighed.

"Yes, I really do. But I'm not sure it's anything to you."

"Why wouldn't it be anything to me? Let's say I go get you a drink. Let's say I get you a few drinks, but then I don't know where to take you home to. What a disaster that would be."

"A disaster, to be sure." Sehun didn't bother telling Jongin how high his toleration probably was at this point, or that his home was probably better stocked than any bar. He didn't want to make himself look more pathetic than he already did. Why bother explaining all that? Better to be strangers. Jongin was such a lovely stranger.

Jongin leaned in now, his elbows on the table, staring at the part of Sehun's face that wasn't hidden like it was a puzzle. "Why don't you take your hood off?"

Sehun touched his hood. "Because then you'd stop asking me if I lived around here."

"Try me."

Sehun let the hood fall; there was nobody in the Starbucks anyway. Jongin looked for a second before sitting back, his body looking more relaxed than before, if that was possible. "I bet you're from Montana or something, and you've been taking the train in from Delaware where your ailing aunt and her chihuahua with cancer live, and you don't really live around here at all."

What a beautiful way of saying,  _I don't give a fuck about the scar that runs down the length of your face, from your eyebrow to your jaw, I still want to come back with you, even though you're a drunk._

"It's probably not a good idea," replied Sehun, chewing his lip. But his hands, as always, had a mind of their own and they'd already gathered the cards and absently returned them to their box, and his book followed the cards into his bag. Jongin was already standing. They were about the same height, but Jongin was built like a dancer, while Sehun was built like... a noodle.

He pulled the hood up on the way back to the apartment anyway. It was just habit. He had enough confidence in his bumness that he could probably traverse every block of sidewalk in New York and not flinch at one gaze.

* * *

"Well, here we are." Sehun hesitated in front of the thin door with chipping paint and the numbers 813 inscribed on the front. He really had no idea what Jongin did when he went out, and he really did go out all day. And he always seemed to have plenty of money. The man could quite literally be anything.

But Sehun wasn't in any position to judge, especially when Jongin pressed soft lips to his temple from behind him. He locked and bolted the door behind them out of habit and then his feet carried him to the only cabinet that really mattered in the apartment. It had been happening for about two years: this phenomenon wherin his body parts just did things on their own, and his brain went along for the ride. If he felt like going to class, he went to class. But usually he felt like drinking.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, deciding he was feeling like bourbon tonight.

"Please," came Jongin's voice from the other room. It could barely be called the other room, as it was all really one room—one small room, with a bed on the floor at one end with the windowsill above it, a bookshelf on one side, a low couch stuffed next to the bookshelf, and a small kitchenette against the other corner.

The place was a mess. Sehun was usually either too drunk or too lazy to clean it, and things just accumulated. But at least he took out his trash, so it didn't stink. Unless you counted the alcohol. Jongin accepted a glass with one arm slung across the back of the couch.

"So you live here, and you drink, and you sometimes go to college? What do you learn?" Jongin had a cigarette gently smoking in his mouth.

Sehun did a double-take. He hadn't expected the conversation to continue here, where the sounds of their voices were sucked up by the wood and the fabric of the clothes that seemed to be lying everywhere, where the night sat outside the window and breathed city air and the sound of sirens in through the crack Sehun never fixed, just stuffed with a towel in the winter.

"I'm studying psychology. But you could have guessed that." Psychology. The major of the bums. The stupid major. His  _fuck you_ to his parents who made him go in the first place.

Jongin frowned, taking the cigarette from his lips. "I couldn'tve. I wanted to go to college, you know. But you know, it's such delayed gratification. _Gratification_ , that's the whole goal of it, anyways."

"Well, I like to play with cards." Sehun was already done with his glass, so he poured himself some more. He and Jongin seemed to be amazing at talking about absolutely nothing, just filling up that warm air with the sound of their low voices, and Sehun got drunk much more quickly than he usually did. He more than half expected Jongin to kiss him when he began wavering on his trips to the liquor cabinet, but Jongin seemed to be enjoying the nothingness just as much and when Sehun finally confessed that he would either pass out or retch shortly, Jongin sighed, heaved himself up from the couch, brushed his teeth, and spread-eagled himself on Sehun's bed, not bothering to pull the covers on top of him. 

Sehun didn't have the heart to move him. He couldn't decide if Jongin reminded him of an old-school gentleman or a modern playboy, but the bum mixed in didn't seem to match him very well. Sehun, now, Sehun had experience being a bum. But Jongin belonged in old smoking jackets and eye makeup.

He didn't realize that the image, the word, the concept that he was missing, that he was holding in his mind with feelings rather than descriptions, was exactly what Jongin was.

_Hustler._

* * *

Author's note: After some writer's block and many stabs at a first chapter, we arrive here, at 11 pm on a weekday night, and I think this is what I want. Please look forward to this fic, I think it's going to be really interesting! Subscriptions much appreciated, this baby of a fic needs support *puppy dog face* 


	3. Smoke and Sex

Sehun woke to the smell of coffee. It was a foreign way to wake up; his parents had never had coffee, when they were at home, and he never made it for himself, he always went out. But it made his stomach sizzle and his mind wake up slowly, like his senses were being seranaded. He shifted in bed, spreading his legs and arms so he was spread out on the bed. It was strangely warm. His bed was never this warm when he woke up.

Someone squeezed his ass and he jumped, flipping over before catching sight of who stood above him and falling back onto the bed. Jongin chuckled. "You were just so irristable," he said, and his voice was so bright that Sehun couldn't hold back a smile. The morning light through the window made Jongin's skin glow and Sehun didn't know tan could look this good.

"Here, sit up." Sehun found himself following Jongin's commands more brainlessly than he followed the commands of his liquor. A mug was thrust into his hands. The coffee burned a little on the way down and Sehun grinned at Jongin, who'd taken his place next to Sehun, lounging against the wall. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt from last night.

Now that he was more sober than he had been, Sehun took the time to admire what he'd brought home with him. Muscles that were there but not pretentious, a lean body, beautiful lips... Sehun licked his own. A jawline he certainly had reason to be jealous of. His hand went to his scar subconciously.

"You're staring."

Sehun looked up, blinking, then shrugged sheepishly. "I just woke up, okay? It usually takes me a solid hour to even sit up after my eyes open."

"By all means. I didn't force you to sit up. I'm just the guest." Jongin was playing with a king of diamonds, flipping it around in his hands. His hands were small but interesting to watch, although he had no skill or talent. Sehun made a little sound in the back of his throat, setting down his mug and snatching the card from Jongin's hands.

"Hey!"

"You were going to bend it." Sehun pouted. "I'm down with a lot, but do  _not_ bend my cards."

There was another silence as Sehun played with the card himself and spaced out again, this time staring at Jongin's toes. They were cute, and wierdly perfect. Sehun had never actually  _liked_ the way feet looked before.

"You're staring. Again." Jongin wiggled his toes.

Sehun didn't apologize this time, just shrugging, letting his eyes wander up Jongin's body to meet his gaze. "Ah, I see what this is." All of a sudden Sehun was flat on his back, the card plucked neatly from his fingers and Jongin hovering on top of him, hands on his hips. "You're finally horny now that you're not so wasted." His eyes sparkled playfully.

"Actually, I was wondering when you last washed those clothes," Sehun deadpanned.

Jongin straddled Sehun and pulled his shirt smoothly over his head, crumpling it and throwing it in a corner, raising an eyebrow. "I don't need to have clothes on, smartass."

Sehun opened his mouth to reply, but he was mezmerized by the expanse of skin on display before him and the weight of Jongin in his lap. Jongin leaned down again, his breath passing hotly from his forehead over his nose to puff over his mouth. "I take it," Jongin murmered, arching his back when Sehun wrapped a hand around his waist, "You  _are_ gay, then." 

Already Jongin was grinding their crotches slightly, not really waitng for a reply. As a response, Sehun raised his face those few inches to finally capture Jongin's lips. They were even softer than they looked. The first close-mouthed kiss had Sehun pulling Jongin closer by his ass, and the second open-mouthed kiss had Jongin grinding down hard.

Sehun let out a breathy moan. It had been a while since he'd had such warmth wrapped around him, and the wetness of someone else's mouth against his. And Jongin smelled  _good,_ he smelled like apple pie and coffee, and it had Sehun wishing he could spend every morning making out with a literal model, even if the model lived in a locker above the local Starbucks.

"You're so—fucking—hot," he breathed, moving his lips to that jawline like he was trying to make sure it was really there, that that jaw was really angled like that. He would have kicked himself for sounding like such a kid, but he  _felt_ Jongin grin against his ear. Jongin was gently prying his legs apart so that he could rest between them, but when Sehun realized what he was going for, his legs fell open quickly.

Sehun's shirt was already mostly shoved up onto his chest, but Jongin swiftly pulled it over his head, his hands moving from Sehun's back down to his ass beneath his pants. Sehun was so hard he was breathing out sharply every time Jongin brought his crotch down. " _Likewise,_ " Jongin replied, his hands efficiently undoing the button on Sehun's pants and sweeping them off.

"Wait." Sehun buried his fingers in Jongin's hair, holding his face a few inches away and reaching with his other hand go grip the coffee mug, taking a big sip and then setting it down again. "Okay." The warm liquid mixed invitingly with the sex coiled in his belly. "Go." 

Jongin was chuckling, but he obliged, moving against Sehun again, nipping at his ear playfully. Sehun had his pants unbottoned already and was going about sucking a hickey into Jongin's neck. Jongin moved against Sehun's mouth a little, directing him lower so the hickey was out of sight of where his t-shirt usually covered. Sehun nipped him extra hard for that. Once Sehun was done, and Jongin's hand against Sehun's crotch told him Sehun was plenty excited, Jongin took a nipple in his mouth. Sehun turned his eyes to the cracking paint on the cieling and swore.

Jongin blew on the nipple when he was done and then moved lower. Sehun's legs were totally spread now and his boxers were his only item of clothing left. Sehun was in love with the uneven rythm of Jongin's sex, and all of a sudden his whole cock was in Jongin's mouth and jongin was sucking  _hard._ Sehun's hands fisted in the sheets around him, spewing profanities. " _You're fucking crazy, you're fucking—"_

He was cut off when Jongin stuck two fingers in his mouth, his other hand idly tracing the veins on his cock. "There," muttered Jongin, his lips swollen and glistening, a flush high on his cheeks, his hair sticking every which way. "I'm fucking  _you_." Sehun rolled his eyes and Jongin took his fingers out of Sehun's mouth, deciding to go slow, easing into Sehun's ass with one finger first, massaging Sehun's mouth, entwining their tongues.

Jongin made it to two fingers before he got impatient again, picking up the speed and making Sehun question whether he'd known where to target the whole time because suddenly Sehun was falling apart beneath him in little pants and whines. " _I'm—shit—"_ Sehun weakly attempted to tug at Jongin's pants' which were halfway down his ass. Jongin took the hint immediatley, his pants disappearing. Sehun watched with wide eyes for a moment until Jongin squeezed his ass hard to snap him out of it.

"I know it's the morning, but goddamn," murmered Jongin from his favorite place next to Sehun's ear. " _I hope I'm hot enough to wake you up._ " Sehun opened his mouth to reply, gyrating lazily on Jongin's fingers, but Jongin pulled entirely out and Sehung grunted, clenching on nothing. Then he was flipped over so he was straddling Jongin and Jongin was sitting against the wall again, sweat glistening on his chest in the sun. He ran a hand through his hair, one hand on Sehun's hip. 

He looked delicious, rolling on a condom, indicating with his eyes for Sehun to sink when he pleased. Sehun reached down and wrapped a hand around Jongin's cock, his mouth popping open slightly when he felt Jongin's length. Jongin watched Sehun stroke him for a moment but then he began to guide Sehun's hips down, his pupils shot huge, his stare lusty. "Come on baby, sit down for me," he murmered, the words a tumble of low chords.

Sehun lowered himself, back arching when the tip first pushed in, clenching hard and making Jongin grunt with a clenched jaw. Now it was Jongin's turn to fall into profanities as Sehun concentrated on sinking slowly, watching with heavy lids as Jongin squirmed beneath him. There was a heated moment when Jongin sat fully inside Sehun and they just stared at each other, or maybe it was more than a moment, but Sehun blinked and his mouth opened wide when Jongin snapped his hips up, burying himself deep into Sehun.

Sehun began to move, arching his back to join their mouthes in a loud, sloppy kiss. Jongin was helping a little with his hips, like he couldn't help it, his hands idly circling Sehun's ass. "What a bomb-ass morning," muttered Sehun, resting his head on Jongin's shoulder as they moved together in a perfect, matching rythm. Jongin just hummed in consensus, giving Sehun's ass an extra squeese.

They did that for a while, Sehun enjoying the fullness and the heat, Jongin watching him with half-lidded eyes and puffy lips. Eventually Jongin turned them over again and brushed his teeth against Sehun's neck, picking up the pace, expertly finding what angle made Sehun  _moan_. Sehun shot his load before Jongin and just moaned with each thrust Jongin made, gripping his ass until Jongin released a shuddering breath, throwing his head back as he came.

Sated, Jongin rolled off Sehun but made sure their hips were still pressed together next to each other and tossing the condom in the trash. He idly rubbed Sehun's clenching hole a few times with the pads of his fingers and then leaned over the bed to rummage in his jacket until he found his pack of cigarettes, collapsing against the wall with a satisfied sigh. "Lighter?" He asked.

Sehun had to rummage in his side drawer for a second but eventually produced a lighter and held the flame to Jongin's cigarette, allowing Jongin to do the same for them. They sat there for what must have been an hour, just smoking and exchanging the occasional words about why trains were better than cars and whether Bacall or Hepburn was classier.

Sehun finally rose to pee, Jongin smacking him on the ass as he rose, and he decided that while he was up he might as well shower, get some clothes on, and get some drinks. The coffee hadn't been nearly enough. 

Jongin whined in the back of his throat when he saw Sehun returning with only glasses of liquor. "No food? I could go for some fucking oreos right now," he said, flicking his cigarette out the window. Sehun realized that neither of them ahd eaten since last night and he stopped in the middle of the apartment, glasses in hand. Then he shrugged, continuing his path towards the bed. 

"If you want food I'm afraid you're gonna have to get it yourself, I need a drink," he replied. Jongin sighed, getting up. It was a mezmerizing feat, really, all his muscles bunching together to lift that figure from its position of reclination. So they switched positions and Jongin made a phone call that eventually resulted in pizza. That night, Jongin got dressed in what he'd come in and rapped on the door, causing Sehun to look up from his beat up laptop. 

"I'm going out," he said simply.

Sehun nodded. "Coming back?"

Jongin gave him a crooked smile. "Eventually. If your alchaholic ass wants—" Sehun huffed and waved him out. He needed more vodka and the delivery guy was coming by later and that was pretty much what was on his mind. Yes, he had a delivery guy for his liquor. That's how little he cared about money. That and there was a big poker game tomorrow night. Sehun wondered whether he should be sober for that. 

* * *

Author's note: worry not, other characters enter shortly! Enjoy the smut :) comment, subscribe, be active in your consumption of whatever the hell this is hehe~ 

p.s. this story will have shorter chapters but it will have more chapters. whatever that means. maybe. jeez.  
  



	4. Language

This is how it went: Jongin stumbled through the door to his apartment sometime between midnight and when the sun rose, usually after Sehun had passed out from liquor. They woke up in what they'd been wearing the previous day and eventually rose to get themselves some food, some drink, a smoke. Sex was for the morning. Sehun either practiced his cards at home like he usually did or he went to class.

They didn't talk, but it wasn't for lack of understanding or appreciation. Words were not their language. Sometimes they had little, easy, bite-sized conversations in the morning, or at night when Jongin was too tired or too drunk to go out. But mostly they spoke in sex and shared cigarettes. The seasons passed from the dregs of fall to winter to early spring like that.

Sehun smiled more now. Sure, he wallowed in self-pity occasionally, but he also looked his neighbors in the eye when they passed him in the hall. He became less careful about hiding his scar, since Jongin seemed to care so little. Now, he had a man, an attractive one, and the ease with which they were associated made Sehun stand taller and look the cashier in the eye when he was buying cigarettes.

On their three month anniversary, Sehun decided to do something nice for them. He was sure Jongin would be suprised he'd remembered it; Jongin surely had no idea what the day of the week it had been when he followed Sehun home that first night. He bought a big, hundred-dollar bouquet of roses and three big bottles of high-quality whiskey, the weight of straps cutting into his palms.

Jongin was watching a movie when Sehun got home, something that Sehun vaguely recognized as an old James Bond. He looked up as Sehun came in—he didn't usually, but he must have seen the multitude of red and white in the corner of his eyes. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the roses and he lowered the volume on the TV to 1.

"What's all this for?" he asked, watching with a sharp gaze as Sehun shrugged off his coat and set the bag of liquor carefully on the table. 

"What do you think it's for?" Sehun replied.

Jongin sat back against the couch. "Hmm, trying to charm a teacher maybe? Are you thinking of a new card trick?" 

"With roses?" Sehun asked, raising an eyebrow. "You were closer on your first guess."

"Ah, I see, you're trying to charm somebody? Is it a teacher? Trying to get yourself a partner? I always tell you to capitalize on that skill of yours, I always do."

"It's not for my cards, Jongin." Sehun's voice was quiet and serious and Jongin began to look a little confused.

"Then what..."

Sehun was sitting on his lap now, arms slung around Jongin's shoulders. Jongin's hands automatically moved around Sehun's waist and he took a deep breath. Sehun knew he didn't smell as much of alcohol as he usually did—maybe he even smelled of flowers.

" _What do you think_?" 

"Tell me something, babe, where do you get all your money for this shit? Not that I'm judging. But you don't work."

Sehun settled more onto Jongin's firm thighs, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Jongin's neck. "My parents give it to me."

"No strings attached? That shit gets messy."

"Absolutely none." Sehun knew there was more Jongin wanted to ask, but he couldn't believe that the thought hadn't occurred to Jongin yet that the roses were for him.

"What do you think the roses are for, Nini?"

Jongin just shook his head. "I don't know. Your mystery intrigues me." He licked at Sehun's jaw playfully.

But Sehun found this incredible important. He felt that he'd stared into those honey eyes enough over the past weeks that he could see that this was relatively untraveled territory for Jongin. Sehun, at least, had a few pretty, blushing memories of hot summer nights hand in hand with a boy his parents had thought was straight, too. 

"Has nobody ever been in love with you?" It slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, soft, his voice breaking in the middle of the word  _love_. Jongin's eyes widened and his mouth popped a little open. Sehun had never seen him this suprised.

Then he shook his head. "You're not in love with me, Sehun. You don't know anything about me. You're not—" he stopped, looking frustrated. "Are the roses for  _me_?"

Sehun smiled, nodding. "We met three months ago today. I'm not trying to be corny, really. The roses will make the place smell nice for a while." He neglected to mention that the apartment already smelled better than it had before Jongin had come because now there was almost constantly a pot of coffee on. 

"Roses. Jeez." Jongin looked at them over Sehun's shoulder like they would bite him. "Roses." He seemed to be trying to get his mind around the idea. 

Deciding that was probably enough suprise for the poor man, Sehun stood and fetched the bag he'd brought. "Well, that's not all I brought." He retrieved one of the bottles of whiskey and two glasses. "I also brought whiskey." 

That got a chuckle from Jongin, and he visibly relaxed. "Oh, yes  _please_ , baby.  _Thank_ you." He drank half the glass in one go, pressing a firm kiss onto Sehun's lips when Sehun plopped down next to him. 

"What were you watching anyway, before I came around and barged in on you. Into my own apartment, but whatever." Jongin smiled lazily, turning the volume up a little. 

"I'm watching shit blow up. Think it's old Pierce." And he sparked the wheel of his lighter, the end of his cigarette smoldering to flickering life.

* * *

"Hey Jongin?"

"Hmmm."

"Where do you go when you go out?" They were lying in bed in post-sex contentment; Jongin had come home early that night with a box of high-quality cigars under his arm. They were delicious.

Jongin shrugged. "Art galleries. Concerts. I go to the lake."

"Oh, please." No way was Sehun believing that, and Jongin clearly didn't expect him to.

"Where do you get _your_ money?" Jongin's eyes weren't really closed but not really open, and one of his arms was slung around Sehun's shoulder. His skin felt deliciously warm, and Sehun wondered how he'd kept from going crazy without the warmth of another person. 

"My parents disowned me, but if they said so outright or if, you know, it looked like we weren't some type of pretty little unit or what the fuck ever, they'd be in bad shit. Which, like, I understand." He puffed on his cigar, letting the smoke sizzle in his lungs a moment. "They pay me off to keep my mouth shut. It's enough to live on. And I can get more if I ask for it. I just don't fuckin' like talking to them."

Jongin hummed, his fingers tracing circles on Sehun's biceps. "You're such a-a—you know—" Jongin took another drink. "You're such a perfect combination of fragile and totally fucking badass."

"Why thank you," Sehun mumbled, holding the cigar away from his mouth to press a kiss to Jongin's cheek. 

"You really should do something with those cards." 

Jongin brought this up at least once a day, but it was a natural part of their rhythm. Card decks were as plentiful of empty glasses scattering the small apartment, all in perfect condition, and Sehun went through the day with different decks. Cards were even more natural in his hands than a bottle.

* * *

"Damn." Sehun stuck his finger into his mouth. Jongin looked up from where he was trying to shuffle a deck the new way Sehun had just taught him. "Cut my finger."

Jongin got up and took the finger in his hand, holding it in front of his face as if to inspect it. "Uh-oh."

Sehun giggled at Jongin's pout. "It's just a small cut, real—oh." Jongin had his finger in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, his eyelashes long and casting shadows against his cheeks. He popped the finger out after a second or two, grinning wide. Sehun giggled again.

"I swear, you thirsty—"

There was a knock at the door. Sehun and Jongin stopped at the same time, their smiles fading. No one ever came to the door. It could be anyone. Sehun extracted himself from Jongin and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a short, well dressed man who looked tired. When Jongin saw him after the man took a few steps into the apartment, he took a sharp breath in.

"Junmyeon, what're you doing here?" His voice was quiet and his whole posture had changed.

"I've been lookin' for ya." Junmyeon came the whole way into the apartment. "Had to ask around a lot to find you. What the hell did you do with your phone?"

"This is my boyfriend, Sehun." Jongin motioned to Sehun, who was still standing by the door. 

"I can go, i-if you—"

"Nah, stick around," Jongin shoved his hands in his pockets. "Can I get you something, Junmyeon? Water? A drink. I think whiskey's what we've got right now."

"I'm okay, you don't have to do that. You don't haveta—"

"Because I can, we've got plenty here." Jongin's eyes were hard and his jaw was set. Junmyeon shrugged and Jongin led him to the small table. "Sehun, get us a couple of drinks, will ya."

"I can afford a couple of drinks," Jongin said firmly when Junmyeon opened his mouth again to speak.

"Hey, look, I'm broke as shit, same as you," Junmyeon replied, accepting the glass. "Listen, do you want to go out to talk, or..."

"I introduced you to Sehun, you can talk to me here," Jongin replied quietly.

Junmyeon shrugged. "You've gotta come back out on the road with me, Jongin. When I woke up in that hotel and I realized you were gone, I knew any future that I'd imagined had flown the damn coop and left me with the damn car. Only time when either of us worked was when we were partners. More than partners. He called me—he called me hyung, ok?"

"Nah." Jongin leaned back in his chair. "I've had that life. I'm done with it."

Junmyeon scoffed. "Sure ya are." He turned to Sehun. "Did you know that this man here is one of the best pool hustlers in the country? I can still remember when I found you, you were—"

"I'm not coming back out on the road with ya, Junmyeon."

"What are you thinking you're going to do if you don't do that? You take in what, fifty bucks a day, playing in the smallest back rooms where you can't be recognized?" He paused for a beat. "Wait." An incredulous smile spread across his face. "You're not trying to hang around and play Shortie again, are ya? Jongin, you've gotta let that go."

"Of course that's what I'm doing," Jongin replied, his voice husky. Sehun, watching from the kitchen, felt like he was watching something much too intimate for his position in Jongin's life. His mind was reeling with the new information. 

"I'm going to beat that short hustler," Jongin gritted out, turning his glass in his hands. "With those wide eyes, and that goddamn three piece suit, and that calm velvet voice."

"Crazy," said Junmyeon, looking from Sehun to Jongin. "The boy isn't thinking straight! They wiped the floor with him, he was barely functioning when they were done with him. I had to carry him up to our hotel room." He turned to Jongin. "What the hell are you still here for, do you enjoy getting your ass kicked?"

"Look, if you want your money back, that's fine, I'll get it to you." Jongin was brooding.

"It was never the money," Junmyeon replied. "It was long road trips. We were together twenty-four seven, Jongin, isn't that worth something? It's certainly not about the money now. One of the last real high-class conmen left," Junmyeon said, turning to Sehun again, who was still frozen in the kitchen. He got up to stand between the table and where Sehun stood. 

"Has he told you the kind of life it was? We had it all. We had money to burn, we went out every night, we had ass and drink. It was the fucking life. Objectively. Look, you can take him," Junmyeon said, turning to Jongin again. "And if you don't want to get going right away, that's fine too, you can take your time. Maybe we can all go to California and relax on the beach, get this shit out of our systems."

"With what money?" Jongin asked, his face screwing up.

"It doesn't ma—don't worry, I'll raise it."

"How?"

"Don't worry I said, I'll raise it."

"You all talk funny," sighed Sehun. They looked at him briefly, but then Jongin stood too, towering over Junmyeon.  "Junmyeon," he said, not looking at the man. His voice sounded... dangerous. "Did you hold out on me?"

Junmyeon stayed quiet, but that was answer enough. "How much?" Jongin asked. "Junmyeon,  _how much?_ ""

Junmyeon leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair. "Five thousand dollars, maybe. Twenty-five percent, that's my sh—" he jumped when Jongin threw his glass across the apartment hard, shattering it against the wall.

" _Five thousand dollars?"_ Jongin shrieked, his voice cracking, moving even closer to his ex-partner. "Five thousand dollars was all I needed and I could have beat him! That was all we needed, hyung!" 

"Look!" Junmyeon snapped at him. "It's a money pit and I won't participate. You come on the road with me fine, the money's yours, but you want to stay here and waste it on Chicago Shortie, forget about it!"

Jongin laughed, and it sounded a little crazed. "You still don't get it, do you. You're small time, hyung! How long did you plan to have me hustling for you in those same goddamn back rooms and small towns. You'd work me long enough to get enough to open your own golf club where you'd have a small pool room all your own and a wide open green and smooth back roads where you can drive your BMW. That's you dream, hyung! You've got no vision! I've spent my ten thousand hours practicing my trade! When I make enough money is that when  _you_ say goodbye, Junmyeon?"

"That's your opinion?"

"Yes! Fuck!"

"Fine. You're right," Junmyeon deadpanned. "My own gulf club with smooth back roads for my BMW. A woman to run it with me. I'm almost to middle age, Jongin. I'm looking forward." His voice was naturally thin, but now it was thinner and Junmyeon's eyes looked a little watery.

"Fine," replied Jongin savagely, "Lay down and die. But don't take me with you."

"So you'd kick me out?" Junmyeon tried to make eye contact with Jongin, whose back was to them.

"Yes, I'm kicking you the fuck out!" Jongin's words fell hard and tinny in the room.

The room creaked as Junmyeon and Jongin locked eyes, but eventually Junmyeon swallowed and put his drink down, reaching around Sehun to put it on the counter. Sehun was shaking a little. It was too much and he hadn't had enough to drink that day. "Thanks for the drink, Sehun," he muttered, cocking a halfhearted grin.

They both let out a breath when the door finally closed behind him, Jongin collapsing against the counter, his chest heaving. "Hey, refill me," he muttered, holding out his glass. Sehun took it from him automatically and returned it full. Jongin took a long drink. 

"Everybody wants a goddamn piece of me," he lamented, looking up at the ceiling. Sehun wondered what it was like inside that mind. Spending all that time doing all the work and someone else reaping the benefits, but the  _benefits_ of such a life. Jongin looked wrecked. He looked like he wanted something.

"C'mere," Jongin muttered, holding out an arm. Sehun moved into the circle of his arms. Jongin's breath smelled like it was more alcohol than air and he was stll shaking a little. "You know I respect you, don't you? You know I love you." His hand traveled up to cup Sehun's jaw. His pupils were unnaturally wide, crowding out the honey in his eyes.

Sehun opened his mouth to reply, but Jongin kissed him instead, his lips searing through Sehun's, his tongue hot and insistent. Sehun whined in the back of his throat. He didn't know what the fuck was going on but it was hot, and he would honestly give all of himself Jongin at this point. Jongin's mouth moved hungrily to Sehun's jaw, nipping hard, and Jongin made a frustrated sound, extracting the glass from Sehun's hand. 

Jongin flipped them around, so Sehun was leaning across the counter, his ass sticking out. He reached up his arms so Jongin could pull his shirt off swiftly. He could already feel Jongin's cock rubbing at his ass beneath his jeans. Hotness rushed to his gut and he arched his back when Jongin's hands dipped beneath his jeans to squeeze his ass hard. Of course. This was their language, after all.

Soon Sehun's pants and boxers were on the ground and he was bucking into Jongin's hand as he jerked him off, two fingers pumping in and out of him at the same time. Jongin's hot breath tickled the back of his neck. Almost as impatient, Sehun pressed back into Jongin's hand until Jongin got the message. 

In response, Jongin's mouth attached itself to his spine and his fingers disappeared briefly, to be replaced by the condom-clothed tip of Jongin's cock. There was no teasing, no foreplay, and Jongin just buried himself in Sehun, barely giving him time to adjust before beginning to fuck him at a punishing pace. He was good at it, too, hitting the right spot every time so that Sehun just felt assaulted and utterly helpless. He was vocal about it, the wood absorbing his moans and making them sensual waves of sound in the apartment.

Jongin was grunting against his skin, finally shouting and pulling out to turn Sehun around and back him up until he fell onto the bed, immediately pushing his legs up until his knees were next to his ears and pushing inside him again, thrusting into Sehun like he was trying to bury himself in the other every time he snapped his hips forward. Sehun's eyes were squeezed closed, his prostate abused, and it didn't take long for him to cum in stunted shouts.

Jongin just kept pounding, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his fingers gripping Sehun's legs hard enough Sehun wondered if they'd bruise. Finally Jongin swore loudly and came, losing his grip on Sehun's legs and catching his fall with elbows on either side of Sehun's head. Their eyes drifted open at the same time and they were both surprised at how close they were, their eyes inches apart, those windows to the soul sparking like they were being fused.

* * *

Author's note: fair is fair: I'm sticking very very close to the story I got the idea for this from so far (The Hustler, 1961). I'll diverge soon ;) 

I hope you all like the drama! Please please comment, I love to hear what you thought! Upvotes and subscriptions make me happy too ^^ ~seahorse


	5. Do We Want $$$ Like Suzy Does?

"So." Sehun watched with fascination as his finger traced patterns on Jongin's chest, the pale of his hand contrasting with the tan of Jongin's skin. "You're a hustler. That's what when you do when you go out."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Jongin was frowning. Sehun hadn't expected him to respond so seriously. He'd expected something like  _I'm more mysterious that you expected_ or  _Couldn't you tell, from how charmed you are?_  But Jongin looked bashful.

"It's really okay," responded Sehun. "If I felt I needed to know, I would have pressed. It could have been so much worse." He snuggled closer to Jongin's burning skin. "In fact, I don't know if anything could be sexier."

"Really?" Jongin's eyelashes swept up as he looked up at Sehun. "I thought you'd be mad. That's no way to treat your boyfriend, it's really—shit, it seemed like you understood the whole—the whole phenomenon of being in a really shitty place in life."

"I do," replied Sehun emphatically. "I  _do._  And I didn't press, did I? Think about it this way: you could have been a crack dealer that strangled the newborn babies of your enemies."

That got a small chuckle, and it puffed Sehun up. He liked being able to make Jongin smile, so that cute dimple appeared high up in his cheeks. "And now I realize why you always bug me about my cards. I bet you've been itching to take me gambling. Come on," he poked Jongin. "Admit it, it's all you ever think about."

"Babe,  _you're_ all I ever think about," responded Jongin in a ridiculous surge of giddy emotion, grabbing Sehun's head roughly and yanking him down for a quick kiss. Sehun came up laughing. "I got so much more than I fucking bargained for with you," said Jongin after they had settled down again. "You're right, you'd be great doing what I do. You're fucking seductive. That's most of it, you know. Yeah, you have to be good at what you do—very good—but you also have to be able to charm the pants off everyone in the room.

"Listen, I've never done something like that before, though," replied Sehun, propping himself up on one elbow and allowing the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck to seduce him into really considering it. "I have no idea how to charm."

Jongin chuckled. "Well, that's not such a bad thing. You're so damn beautiful if you had charm too the world wouldn't be safe." That got Sehun blushing. "Would you... would you want to?" Jongin asked, his voice hesitant. He seemed unsure if it was something he had the privilege of asking.

"What, come with you? Gambling?"

"You wouldn't have to play," Jongin responded quickly. "You could just watch me. You could hold the money if you wanted."

Sehun swallowed. "Like... you know... like Junmyeon did?"

Jongin's jaw clenched and he stiffened a little. "Not at all. Look at me, sweetheart. Relationships based on one-way dependence don't usually work out, no matter how good the people are. So maybe you'd depend on me, but I depend on you anyway. I'd rather not go back to living above that Starbucks."

So it was decided, and they spent the rest of the morning making their way through beer and cigarettes, planning where they would go and imagining how much money they would make. Jongin seemed determined to earn more than usual just for Sehun.

* * *

He was more sober than usual when the first walked through the doors, and Jongin could tell, so they went straight to the bar. They'd had to take a taxi a fair distance outside the city to a country club. Jongin had explained in the car that they had to go so far because he'd already hit most of the joints in the city. Everyone knew who he was, and he basically couldn't shoot pool within the city limits. No one would play a game they were sure they'd lose.

Except Jongin. Jongin's desperate voice from last night echoed still in his ears.   _I'm going to beat that short hustler. With those wide eyes, that goddamn three-piece suit, and that calm velvet voice._  He'd sounded fascinated. Obsessed.

In any case, Jongin kept his hand at the small of Sehun's back and preceded to be a perfect gentleman, offering to pay for their drinks while making it abundantly clear that it wasn't an offer, it was a reality. He seemed to instinctively own the space. They sat at the bar for a couple minutes, and then Jongin leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Now I go over and start a game. I don't bet on the first one, I  _lose_ the first one. Then I start betting. Here." he shoved a handful of bills into Sehun's hand. "Give me whatever I'm betting. I won't start winning until about an hour in."

Then he sauntered over to a pool table, acting more drunk than Sehun knew he was. It went just like he'd promised. Sehun stood a little to the side and paid close attention to the faraway look Jongin put into his eyes, the slur he put in his voice, the slow manner with which he answered questions. He seemed like a clueless pretty boy. The man he was playing clearly thought so, raising the bet on his own as Jongin drank more and his shots became more unpredictable. 

Then, an hour in, Jongin won a match with a bet of twenty bucks on a "lucky" shot. He winked at Sehun after he sank it, and Sehun had to bite his cheek not to chuckle. It was enjoyable, the feeling of utter control, toying with people who thought they were toying with him. 

He won the next game with a shot so spectacular Sehun's own jaw dropped, and so did the smug man who was playing him. "You couldn't make that again if there were two hundred dollars on the table for it," the portly man exclaimed. Jongin's eyes snapped up, glittering a little in the low light.

"Would you make that a bet?" he asked, smirking in a way that made him seem overconfident to the extreme—the kind of overconfident that drink and nicotine inspired. The man agreed—Sehun could feel himself getting giddy. He  _agreed!_ No  _way_ could any sane person make that shot on purpose. Impossible.

"Go ahead," Jongin said, motioning to the balls. "Set them up like they were. Exactly where they wore. There, that seems about right." It wasn't right; the man had made he shot even harder than it had been. Sehun shook his head. It would take longer to make back that two hundred dollars. Jongin took a deep breath and leaned across the table. For a moment, Sehun got distracted because Jongin's ass was sticking out there right in front of him, tantalizing in the new pair of black skinny jeans Jongin had bought a few weeks back. 

He looked up when he heard the clack of balls and realized that Jongin had actually sunk the ball he'd said he would. Every jaw in the room dropped to the floor, but Jongin just smirked and calmly collected the money from the table where it lay, handing it to Sehun. "They'll be giving me dirty looks soon," Jongin muttered in Sehun's ear. "One more game and then let's go home and celebrate." Sehun shivered at his breath.

Then Jongin turned and just began to act even drunker than before, proclaiming loudly that he was the prince of luck. The chuckles weren't as assured anymore. Jongin won one more game, for a extra fifty bucks, and then he tugged his jacket on, repeatedly rejecting the poor man who kept asking for another game, sure Jongin had just been set upon by a wild streak of luck. 

They picked up a nice bourbon on the way home, and the second the door shut behind them Sehun's mouth was on Jongin's. Jongin seemed suprised at Sehun's tenacity. "Mmm, did I impress ya?" He asked, grinning. Sehun just replied by pulling his shirt off.

"It's fucking," Sehun said between kisses down Jongin's neck, " _sexy._ " He hitched his fingers into the loops of Jongin's jeans, pulling the boy's crotch against his. He had no idea why it was such a turn on—maybe it was because he felt like he'd gotten to see an important side of Jongin, the side that Jongin was proud of, the side that defined him. Maybe because Jongin was so  _good_ at it. He felt like he had a finely tuned instrument grinding its beautiful hips into him. 

He pushed Jongin by his ass towards the bed, pouring a generous glass of the bourbon before following him into bed. Jongin was already naked, kneeling with a cigarette hanging from his lips, nursing a lighter to light it. Sehun snatched it from his lips after he took the first drag, quickly attatching their mouths so he could suck up the last dregs of smoke from Jongin's mouth.

Jongin whined in the back of his throat and Sehun smiled against his mouth. He sighed as Jongin took his shirt off too and then pushed him down against the bed, unzipping his jeans, kissing down the subtle happy line between his abs. "You know," Sehun said as Jongin pulled his pants the rest of the way off and then his boxers, "You've got all these pet names for me. What do I call  _you_? Don't you dare say daddy," he added quickly, then had to clench his jaw when Jongin huffed, his breath hot on his cock.

"Nini's nice." Jongin spoke to his cock instead of him, making experimental licks across the tip. Sehun took a drag from the cigarette he'd stolen from Jongin and wondered if this was what happiness was. And if it was, he wondered what the fuck all the jackasses running around running multi-billion dollar companies were doing. " _Jagi._ " Jongin breathed, taking the tip into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. " _Darling._ "

He went all the way down in one go until the tip hit the back of his throat, coming right back up and smirking up at Sehun. Sehun lightly slapped the smirk off his face, just because he could. Jongin's eyes sparkled savagely. "How about hottie," he mused, but then he couldn't speak anymore because he had to focus on lasting more than two minutes with Jongin's hot mouth working magic around him. 

Finally, he stalled Jongin's movement by tugging him back by the nape of his neck, all the way up an then around so Jongin's ass stuck up in the air. "Nini. Hottie." Sehun nipped at Jongin's ear and put the cigarette out on the side table, reaching instead for the lube. He took his time bringing Jongin to ecstasy, relishing the heat and tightness of him, and the hunger of Jongin's mouth as Jongin rode him.

They went out again the day after that, and the day after, until they were spending almost twenty four hours a day together. Jongin called him sweetheart and babe and baby and darling and he called Jongin Nini and hottie and hot stuff—and darling, too. Sometimes Sehun indulged himself in believing that nothing ever needed to change—that it could be like this forever, that he'd never have to face his parents, or his brother, ever again.

And he got to play  _cards_. Jongin was hesitant to bring him out gambling with cards, so they stuck to 8-ball. But he indulged in the slide of cards through his fingers even more than he used to, and Jongin even introduced him to someone named Park Chanyeol who had tattoo sleeves but the most ridiculously sunny smile he'd ever seen. 

"He's small time," Jongin assured him, rubbing comforting circles against his back. "Don't be intimidated. To be honest, you're probably better than he is."

He was, but Chanyeol was more creative. They were a good pair, because Chanyeol was eloquent and he could imagine tricks that had never even occurred to Sehun. But Sehun could execute them. He spoke in a strange rhythm that made Sehun forget how much time had passed since they'd been talking. Sometimes Jongin would fall asleep while they were talking, and Sehun would look over to see his boyfriend waking up with a petty, jealous expression, looking between Sehun and Chanyeol suspiciously.

"Have you ever noticed," asked Chanyeol one day, leaning back against the old couch they sat on, "that we all have super deep voices? I know you homos feel that you don't need a girl, but I'll tell you one thing, their voices add some balance. So much bass." He shook his head. He was going through a platinum phase—at least Jongin promised him it was a phase. Chanyeol insisted it was permanent ("Well, you can't tattoo your hair silver, asshole" was Jongin's reply).

"I like it," said Sehun. "It's relaxing. Especially your voice. You should, like, narrate books on tape or something." 

"You listen to those?" Chanyeol asked, focusing on their game. They were just playing Egyptian rat screw, the most juvenile game they could think of, but it required very little brain power. "I just listened to the greatest book the other day. Scifi. Who would have known I'd like scifi? And after I've gotten all of my tattoos already." He pouted, but Sehun threw his head back laughing.

"We should get going soon, babe," came Jongin's voice from the bathroom. He emerged and plopped onto the couch right next to Sehun, agitating their cards. Chanyeol's lair was in a basement on the hip side of town. Chanyeol insisted it was rent controlled and that's how he kept it. But Sehun and Jongin both knew that if it was rented Chanyeol could never afford to install all the neon signs that littered the walls or the giant fridge made of three separate fridges welded together to create the ultimate beer-storing machine. Needless to say Chanyeol liked making things. It was easy to deduce that someone, probably the faceless woman who was called Suzy on the checks that lay around, liked Chanyeol.

"Yeah." Sehun kissed Jongin on the temple and turned back to the game. "Hey Yeol, your sugar mama, would you say she's happier than you?"

"What kinda fucking question is that?" responded Chanyeol. Sehun shrugged, puffing some smoke from his cigarette into Chanyeol's face. 

"Hmmm." Chanyeol could make the lowest sounds in the bottom of his throat. "Well, first off, I don't have a sugar mama, so stop fucking saying I do. But the lady who  _owns_  the place... hmmm. She's kind of like Lucifer. Don't get me wrong—" he chuckled when both Jongin and Sehun snorted, "—she's super nice. But she likes finding, you know, goodie two-shoes, daughters of college professors and stuff, and corrupting them." He grinned and licked his lips. Sehun made a face. 

Then Chanyeol shrugged. "She enjoys spending money, I guess. I don't know, I'm a guy. I don't pay attention to that shit."

"So she's happy. The extra money makes her happy?" Sehun pressed.

"You haven't heard her rant about how much makeup costs," Chanyeol replied. Then Jongin whined about being tired so they finished up their game, said their goodbyes, and stopped at the liquor store on the way home. But Sehun couldn't get the uncomfortable feeling out of his system that this was too good to be true, suspended in some limbo of youth. He was obsessed with the concept that he and Jongin were  _poor_ , they lived on very little, and yet they seemed to avoid talking about money unless they were gambling. Everything was at odds with what the outside world seemed to think was the way people should live. Why wasn't it falling apart?

He wondered, and he also worried about his own health once in a blue moon, because Chanyeol also enjoyed telling him that he was destroying his insides with the amount of alcohol he consumed.

* * *

Author's note: I'd say I'm going to lay off the sex, but I'd be lying... sorry not sorry... please anticipate conflict! I'm a sucker for fluff but I live to please... jk I live to keep y'all interested ;)

Subscribe! And most importantly, comment! I'm a sucker for feedback.

p.s. I haven't forgotten about kyungsoo.


	6. Dimples & Addictions

Sehun finally got Jongin to take him gambling. It took a lot of cajoling, and very targeted annoying, until one morning Jongin threw up his hands and relented. They almost didn't make it to the joint because Sehun kept stopping them to kiss Jongin. When they finally stumbled into the smoky basement, Jongin was thoroughly flustered and wasn't paying much attention.

Luckily, Chanyeol found them right away and led them to the bar. Sehun sighed, looking at the smooth wood and the wall of liquor behind it. They all looked the same, or at least almost the same. He wondered what percentage of his life he spent at bars.

"So we're just gonna hang out here a while, and I'll introduce you to a few people—you brought a deck, right?" Chanyeol asked. Sehun nodded, pulling it out. It was his nicest deck, slightly broken in, glossy and classic. "Okay, well just start fucking around with them. Don't, like, show off like you do with me," he added. "We don't want to scare anybody. Here." He grabbed the arm of somebody and pulled them closer. This is Namjoon. Namjoon, this is Sehun, I've told you about him."

"Ah, the kid you took under your wing," Namjoon said, smiling and shaking hands with Sehun. "Listen, Chanyeol might be fucking immature, but he can spot talent from a mile away. Nice to see ya again, Jongin. I heard about Shortie. Rough luck." Namjoon folded his arms. His blonde hair looked white in the smoky, yellow light. "I'm actually suprised you're still in Chicago. Can't be very lucrative."

"I'm taking a break," replied Jongin. "I thought you were in Japan, anyway."

"We met at a... conference... in Japan," Namjoon explained. "They're fucking crazy over there. Jongin was right to get the fuck out."

"Is Jiho still out there?" Jongin asked. 

"Yeah." Namjoon gave a small chuckle. "But drag racers are a whole other breed. How many times has he told you to call him Zico? Don't worry, I won't tell him you said Jiho. Him and JHope and Mino have probably taken over the goddamn country by now." He looked between Jongin and Sehun. "Are you two...?" 

Jongin wrapped an arm around Sehun's waist and Namjoon rolled his eyes. " _Anyway_. Let me know if you want to play a round, kid, maybe I'll go easy on ya." he clapped Sehun in the back and then faded back into the crowd, waving bye to Chanyeol, tugged away by a tall woman who looked too skinny except for in the boob area.

"Oh, shit," Jongin muttered. "Jessie and Namjoon? That can't be safe." 

Chanyeol chuckled. "Oh, it's not, trust me. But Sehun could beat both of them. They're not..." he thought for a moment. "They're not as elite as say, Shortie is in pool, but they're pretty up there. You can make more if you go for the lower guys. You've just gotta be more careful with them." Chanyeol took a sip of his beer;it looked barely touched. Sehun looked down at his; it was halfway gone.

The room was stuffed with people and the smoke was thick, especially if you were tall. Sehun had no idea how Chaneyeol dealt with it, but he seemed unfazed. "Jongin?" he asked, leaning back so his mouth was by Jongin's ear. Jongin leaned forward. "Am I supposed to be more... you know... charming?"

Jongin chuckled. "The more charm the better, baby. But don't not be yourself here. You can save that for when you're hustling."

Sehun nodded and turned back to the press of people. He had no ability to hold the kind of small talk Jongin fell into so easily, at least with Namjoon. He'd never been anywhere, and he certainly didn't know anybody else in this business. He'd never really regretted not traveling before. "Jongin?" he felt like a child tugging on his mother's sleeve again and again. But Jongin's face was patient and attentive, and Sehun really was curious.

"Do you travel a-a lot? I know you were, um, you know, before we met—" He sighed, his tongue twisted.

"This is the longest I've ever stayed put anywhere since I was thirteen years old," Jongin murmured, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb against Sehun's forearm. "But I like Chicago." Sehun raised an eyebrow, and Jongin laughed. "Fine, I like  _you_." 

Sehun wondered if Jongin was feeling any wanderlust yet. He wondered if he should feel guilty for shackling Jongin to a place where he couldn't very well make a very nice life for himself. It had never occurred to him to look at it that way, because their relationship was so casual. It was still so based in sex and booze and smoke. Now, cards and pool added into the mix. Sehun wondered what the magic formula for a good relationship was. He doubted that was it.

Chanyeol began to introduce him to more people, and point out others. An hour in, and two beers later, Sehun could name every person in the room, and had met five, including Namjoon. Chanyeol kept quizzing him, though. "It's so important to remember names around here," Chanyeol explained. "Names are everything. When you strike out alone or with Jongin, they won't matter so much. You'll pick a different name. By the way, Jongin, what  _is_  your alias?"

"Kai," replied Jongin idly while cracking a peanut. Sehun raised an eyebrow. It was a strange alias, but he wasn't about to ask any questions. Chanyeol finally got them in an easy round of blackjack, and they played for about an hour with Hoya, Liam, and Irene. Sehun was suprised at how many women there were—it had seemed to him like this scene was only for men. But Irene smoked twice as fast as the rest of them and she won a lot, too, smiling up at them with deceivingly innocent eyes as she collected her winnings.

The night picked up when Chanyeol decided to move them back to the poker table. Well, it wasn't exactly his decision: he saw a heavily-makeuped guy named Tao and they started talking and it ended with Tao dragging Chanyeol to the poker table and Chanyeol dragging Sehun and Sehun dragging Jongin. They must have looked like buffoons when they finally arrived, their cackles making them by far the loudest party in the room.

It was a rush of happiness and giddiness that Sehun wasn't sure he'd ever felt, not even when he was watching Jongin hustle: his blood rose and bubbled merrily in his veins, fortified by drink and calmed by smoke, and Jongin whispered jokes in his ear for him to giggle at, and there were cards  _everywhere_. He could focus on practicing something he loved: on studying the faces of his opponents, on finding their tell, on calculating what to do next.

They came away with modest winnings but Chanyeol declared it a stunning victory. By two a.m. Sehun was a little too drunk to play so Chanyeol escorted them out, a dimpled blonde under his arm. They'd met that night, and she'd introduced herself as Wheein, and since then Chanyeol had become less and less attentive to Jongin and Sehun. 

As Sehun and Jongin walked away from the glow of the lights outside the door of the basement, the crisp night air erasing the warm smoke that clung to them, Sehun leaned into his boyfriend. "They're such a good couple it's creepy," he muttered. His tongue was feeling loose like it didn't often do when he was drunk. "She even has  _dimples,_ " he slurred. "Like  _he_ does." Jongin's chest rumbled with his chuckle and he patted Sehun's head.

"I'm glad you had a good time, baby."

* * *

When Sehun woke the next morning, gambling was all he could think about. It felt like drink, in the sense that it was magnetic; his mind just kept circling back to it. 

Jongin woke to a grinning Sehun poking him in the side, asking him where they were going to go tonight. Jongin groaned and turned over. "It's too early for this," he mumbled into his pillow. It couldn't be before eight o'clock. Sehun  _never_ got up that early, especially since they'd gotten to bed around three in the morning.

"Nininininininininini."

Jongin swatted at Sehun's general direction. "Go whine to Chanyeol. Actually, don't, he probably got laid last night." He groaned. "I gotta work tonight, Sehun. Some of us work for a living."

"What are you talking about, Nini, you live in my apartment! You don't have to pay rent! In fact, I insist that your rent be taking me out againnn." Sehun just sounded so excited. As the fog of sleep evaporated he remembered what it had been like when he'd first been discovered, playing with a stick much too long for him in his dad's pool joint. When Junmyeon had taken him out for the first time, he'd practically stalked the man.

"Let's just take it slow, okay? We'll go out again sometime next week. I promise."

"Next week?" Jongin could hear the dejection in Sehun's voice. "What's wrong with tonight?"

"Well, for one, Chanyeol's not available, and I know jack shit about cards."

"What about all those other people you knew there? Namjoon? Amber? Gary?"

Jongin sighed and heaved himself up into a sitting position. He was suprised to find that Sehun didn't have a drink in his hand or on the side table. "I don't know them in the right way. Me and Chanyeol go way back, and he owes me for a couple things. People don't just get rookies into the business for free, sweetheart. I only belonged in that room based on my cred as a hustler. If I'd just been some pool player, forget about it. You did well though," he added, taking Sehun's jaw between his fingers so the boy would look at him. "They were impressed, I could tell. You made an impression."

He watched as Sehun puffed up. "I still don't want to wait till next week, Nini."

"Don't worry," Jongin replied. "I'm perfectly capable of keeping you distracted." He brought Sehun's mouth to his for a slow, sweet kiss, his hand traveling beneath Sehun's boxers. He'd been trying to get Sehun to sleep naked for ages now, but Sehun insisted ("What if there's a fire, and we have to jump out of the window to escape, and you're naked? That's fucking embarrassing.")

Sehun whined at the loss of his mouth when he moved his lips to Sehun's jaw and then skimmed them across his stomach. His cock mostly hard now, Jongin got rid of Sehun's boxers and ducked under the duvet, sending Sehun a devilish smile before disappearing. It was surreal, sucking him off without seeing him, only able to hear when he whined when Jongin did something with his tongue.

When Sehun had come once, they abandoned the duvet—it was getting to be summer, and the apartment was warm—in favor of lying on top of one another. Figuring they had all the time in the world, Jongin stuck a finger into his mouth as he stroked their dicks together and then brought it to Sehun's entrance.  _Yeah. He could do distracting._

Sehun arched into his finger, his breathing speeding up again. Jongin loved how Sehun wrapped his legs around his ass, bring him closer, and how his fingers could never seem to decide between his hair and his skin. He shivered every time Sehun traced those fingers down his spine or dug them into his back.

He'd long since given up trying to keep Sehun from giving him visible hickeys. Sehun was too good at it, his teeth and tongue working together to make him burningly sensitive. But Jongin was feeling devilish. He added a second finger, then a third, until Sehun was full-on riding him, writhing and sweaty in the bed, and cusing him up and down.

" _Kim fucking Jongin, if you don't put your cock in my ass I swear to go—ahh!_ " he arched as Jongin brushed his prostate, his legs tugging at Jongin, his hands moving down to Jongin's cock to stroke it eagerly.

Instead, Jongin moved back down Sehun's body, past his cock, pressing his tongue against Sehun's hole that clenched with the absence of his fingers. " _Fuck, Jongin, not your—fuck, not your tongue—"_

Jongin pulled back, his lips glistening, his hair every which way, his abs moving fluidly. "Not my tongue? Tsk tsk tsk." he shook his head. "You're  _thirsty_  today, babe." He watched with amusement as Sehun turned around so he was on all fours, sticking his ass out in the air. Jongin let him be like that for a moment, admiring it, eventually squeezing it appreciatively, and giving it enough of a slap to make Sehun whine.

"Not my tongue?" he leaned forward and pulled Sehun's asscheeks apart, moving his tongue back to the rim, moving it in and out so that Sehun was unintelligible. When the boy finally seemed frustrated enough he swiftly rolled on a condom and sank all the way into Sehun, without warning. He loved watching the reaction, the slow groan, the head thrown back.

The delicious tightness of him, the tug, the way that Sehun clenched around him and the way his name tumbled from Sehun's lips. It was better than any drug. It was what kept him here.  _This._

* * *

When Jongin woke up a day later, after over twenty-four hours of _distracting_ , the sun was low in the sky, half-hidden by the horizon of the street out the window. He could tell the bed was empty, so he raised his head a little, looking for Sehun, assuming he was up getting a drink.

Sehun wasn't in the apartment. So Jongin assumed he was out shopping. They took turns getting groceries, but Jongin usually ended up doing it because Sehun only ever came back with more liquor. He had no idea how the boy got so much alcohol, considering he wasn't even legal. 

He began to worry an hour later, bored of the TV show he was watching, pacing around the apartment, incredible bored. He wanted to go out tonight—he didn't like going more than a day without a cue in his hand and the clack of 8-balls in his ears. But he also wanted to wait for Sehun.

An hour after that, he took out his phone and called his boyfriend. He'd never heard Sehun's 'leave a message' message—that was how consistent Sehun was with picking up his phone. 

Sehun's 'leave a message' message went like this: "Well, I usually pick up my phone, so I don't know what to tell ya. I might just not want to talk. If it's an emergency, call xxx-xxx-xxxx."

It was his number. Sehun had made Jongin his emergency contact. Jongin felt a lump form in his belly. He'd never been anyone's emergency contact before, not even Junmyeon's. Junmyeon's had been his ailing but filthy rich grandmother. 

It was time to worry. Jongin didn't even bother throwing on his jacket this time, just slipping on his shoes and grabbing his keys before storming out of the apartment. Sehun had only passed out three or four times in the space they'd been together—he usually knew hot to limit how drunk he was. His boyfriend wasn't in the liquor store, or the grocery store, or the department store where they bought the rest of their stuff. No Sehun. 

Then he walked back to the apartment slowly, making sure to look in every side alley as he went. If Sehun was smart, he would've passed out right on the street, but it couldn't hurt to look. 

No Sehun.

Jongin went to the bars they frequented. By now the moon was rising and there must have been a hundred messages on Sehun's cell phone. Chaneyeol picked up after a few rings, his voice sounding scratchy and tired. He hadn't seen or head from Sehun since two nights ago. Jongin thanked him and hung up quickly when he heard a female voice in the background. 

 _Think._ The only option left was that Sehun had been kidnapped, killed, beaten, or he'd gone hustling on his own. Jongin decided he'd prefer the last option, though not by much. He could remember plenty of jobs gone wrong that had ended in beatings and guns shoved in his face. So he made a detour, entering that Starbucks for the first time in four months. They'd changed baristas. His locker was still there, and only one item remained.

He returned to the street grimly, the weight of what he'd recovered from his old locker heavy in his waistband. Then be began searching in earnest, calling Sehun at intervals. There weren't really that many bars in Chicago, not in their neighborhood. He knew most of them. So he went to all the ones he didn't know.

At midnight on the dot he opened a sticky door and walked into one of the most ratty bars he'd ever seen. There weren't very many people in it, and those who were all had pot bellies and mustaches in common. Jongin fought the urge to roll his eyes. There was a time when he would have found places like this intimidating as well as disgusting. Now he just found them the latter.

The bartender looked up when he walked in and didn't look away as Jongin approached the bar. "Can I getcha something?" he asked hostilely. Jongin clearly didn't belong there. His jeans were a little too skinny and ripped, his oxfords a little too nice, his eyes a little too bright.

"Have you seen an asian guy in here, blonde hair, tall, skinny?" he asked, laying the Chicago accent on thick. It couldn't hurt.

The bartender jerked his thumb to the back of the bar, where a curtain of beads obscured the back. He rapped a knuckle on the bar with a  _thanks_  and made his way to the back.

When he swept the beads aside and peeked inside the back room, he knew he'd found the right place, and his stomach sank. He reached behind him and brought out the gun, the heavy metal cold in his hand. "Take your fucking hands off him before I do something I regret."

* * *

Author's note: I hope you all like! Sorry for the cliffhanger hehe ^^ 

 **comment** what you think! I'm writing this pretty quickly ~seahorse


	7. Slapping Soles

Sehun turned his collar up at the breeze sweeping down the street. His ass was still a little sore, and he almost turned around and went straight back home a few times. But each time something pulled him a little stronger the other way. He was suddenly angry that he and Jongin had been to most of the bars in the area; it meant he prowled for a long time, until he was fairly sure he was going in circles and didn't recognize the neighborhood anymore.

He decided to view that as a good thing. It meant Jongin certainly wouldn't know the neighborhood. His thin jean jacket usually worked for spring weather, but the wind really was punishing tonight, and eyes seemed to pop out at him from shadowed alleys. He comforted himself by thinking about how pitiable he probably looked: the epitome of bumness, just like he'd been before he'd met Jongin. He wondered if being happy lessened the bumness. Maybe having a spark in your eyes meant you were classier. Maybe money could do that.

Fists clenched in his pockets.  _He_ would make that money. He wouldn't extort it from his parents on the thin excuse of being who he was. It would be his to bring home: he'd come home in the early hours of the morning, wake Jongin with a kiss on the cheek, or maybe the dick, and place a stack of crisp bills in his hands.  _I made this_ , he'd say.  _Like you do._

Finally, he found an old door that looked like it was about to give up to the years of disrepair and resin from tobacco. He absently brought his flask to his mouth; this was the last drop: it was empty. He barely felt the drink go down, which suprised him. It was straight, low-quality vodka.

Inside, there was a fat man tending the bar and more fat men sitting at the tables, cracking peanuts, muttering complaints about their wives. Towards the back, chairs were gathered together and a group of younger men sat together drinking, talking loudly, arguing about—Sehun cocked his head and listened a moment— _hockey?_  He vaguely recalled that hockey had been a part of most conversations back in Boston.

"I used to be a Bruins fan," he said, sauntering up to the group of young, rough-looking men.

The man sitting in the center, a bodybuilder or something by the looks of him, looked up at Sehun, leaning back in his seat with the air of a king. "Still a Bruins fan? They're fucking disappointing as a team. You're not from around here—Boston, I'm assuming?"

Sehun shrugged. "Awhile ago. Look, I've been in Chicago a few years, color me converted. The Blackhawks are..." he smirked. "Such a  _pleasant_ team to be a fan of." That got a rousing round of laughs—the Blackhawks were known for regularly making the playoffs and often making it to the championship. Sehun could feel the group quickly warming to him, and he'd seen their bulging pockets and the decks of cards in the various pockets. He was shrewd enough to deduce what was going on: they hadn't come just to drink. They'd come to play.

Sehun kept up the conversation with them for a while, settling down in his own chair with a beer and making an effort to speak mostly with the one who was clearly the leader. His name, Sehun learned, was Dan—how mundane. But he and Dan became real buds, and Sehun began to believe that maybe he really did have that same charm Jongin could turn on so easily.

Finally Dan sighed; his drink was out and the sun was conspicuously absent from the outside. "You play, Sam?" Dan asked. Yes. Sehun had called himself Sam. He remembered a conversation a few nights ago about what his alias would be, but Sam would do, at least for one night.

"Do I play?" Sehun shift in his seat, hyperaware that this was an important moment, relishing the adrenaline that pumped through his veins. "Yeah, course I play. I play, Dan."

Dan nodded like this was the proper response. Then he sighed and stood, shaking hands with a few of the guys sitting at the table. Sehun wondered why for a moment, but the Dan's arm was draped around his shoulders—a bit awkwardly, because Sehun was taller than him, but still. "How much you packin, Sam?"

Sehun's hand immediately sank into his pocket. "Only five hundred." He had really brought a thousand dollars, cash—half of his and Jongin's emergency stash. But Dan didn't need to know that. The man nodded as if this were an acceptable amount and bid goodbye to the rest of the table. Sehun was about to ask why; he'd assumed they'd all move behind the door that had been growing bigger and bigger in his mind's eye and a deck would be produced.

But he and Dan moved behind the door alone. Behind it was a room larger than Sehun had expected, with a circular table in the middle and file cabinets scattered around the perimeter. There was a door on the other side, and, as if choreographed, the moment 'Sam' and Dan walked through the front entrance, a group of people filed in through the other door.

It all felt very high-stakes, very professional, very serious. Everyone, including Dan, gave an Indian man with a badly grown mustache their money and he put it in a box, noting how much each person had brought what. They made their introductions, and then the woman present, Jessica, produced a stunningly beautiful set of cards and they began to play.

They played poker, and Sehun hadn't expected anything less. He had a beat on everybody in the room before the first hand had been played through; it came to him like it was whispered in his ear. He didn't have to try and he'd never had to learn, he just  _did it._ Then the strategy was to use his knowledge the right way. He lost the first few rounds and then won one so he could stay in the game.

Exhilaration sizzled in his veins and there was still a steady flow of drink coming through the door, the bartender grumbling that he better get a tip for letting them use this room every other goddamn night. As Sehun relaxed he got better and it was harder to resist winning again and again. He registered the dirty looks he got after a while, registered them right along with everything else he observed subconsciously, but he just ignored them. Told himself they looked like what the people Jongin hustled looked like right when Jongin was walking out of the poolroom.

Except he didn't walk out. He couldn't make his feet move. He knew Jongin would be angry with him when he got home. No—that was it. Jongin wouldn't be angry, Jongin was never angry. Jongin would be  _disappointed._ Jongin would frown—not pout, frown—and brood a little, and go for a walk, and come back with a bottle of vodka with a shake of his head. It was worse than if Jongin really  _were_  mad at him.

So he stayed. He stayed until the weight of two thousand dollars sat heavy in his breast pocket and Jessica and Dan and Michael and Ronny were glaring holes right through his chest. Finally, Ronny, the Indian with slitted eyes who seemed to have an endless pile of cash, sighed and stretched. "What a bullshit night," he muttered.

"Say it ain't so," replied Jessica, sighing. Then she gathered her purse and pushed her chair back. "I'm going for a smoke. And I'm  _not_ taking more than an hour, okay Dan? Please be done by then, my husband usually gets home around four." Then she sashayed out of the room and Sehun was left looking at four glowering men.

"We taking a break then, boys?" he asked, cocking a half-smile. His mind wasn't totally clear and for once he couldn't tell what their intent was. 

"Sure," replied Ronny. "A break. Tell me, kid, who taught you to gamble? Who the  _fuck_ taught you to hustle like your fucking goal was to get your arms broken?"

"Excuse me?" Sehun swallowed, the liquid suddenly sloshing around in his stomach and making him want to pee. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, seriously. I'm no hustler. I thought hustlers weren't even—" he swallowed. "Weren't even a thing anymore."

Dan stood up all of a sudden, making Sehun jump a little. Slick Michael with too much hair gel laughed. "Jumpy I see," he muttered. "You should be."

And then they were all standing and Sehun felt he had to stood too, backing slowly away from the table. "Look, I don't know what the fuck your problem is, I just came to drink some fucking beer and play cards." He clenched his jaw; it was  _true_. He hadn't come to hustle, not really. He'd come to get away, to chase that feeling he'd only felt once before. How could they have a problem with that? The evening had been going so pleasantly. 

He wondered why Jessica had left. Why she'd specified she'd be gone for an hour.

Then there were hands on his arms and when he yanked himself to get away they only tightened. "What the fuck?!" Sehun half-shouted, not sure making a lot of sound was a good idea, his heart pounding in his chest. He was goddamn clear  _now_. 

"Well, first thing's first, you're gonna give us our fucking money back," replied Dan, a terrifying glint in his eyes. Rough hands reached into his breast pocket and took out the money and Sehun followed its arc as it was thrown to land on the table. The lights in the room were industrial, but they only lit the table in the middle well; now the five of them were off ot the side, and everyone's faces were hidden in shadow, and it was  _scary_.

"There, you have your fucking—" The hands still wouldn't let him go and Sehun was having a hard time keeping his cool. Hands ran their way down his torso and into his pockets, finding the rest of his cash, inciting a chuckle from his captors. They even took the twenty dollar bill he kept in his shoe. He tried kicking Ronny when he went down to feel in the other shoe, but Ronny dodged him smoothly and stood, teeth flashing.

"Don't fucking kick me," he muttered, and socked Sehun right in the jaw. Sehun tasted iron. Ronny clenched and unclenched his fist, satisfied with the contact he'd made. "There, not so smooth now," he said, his voice rough and loud and backed by the chortling of the men who held Sehun immobile.

Then Ronny punched him again, this time in the eye, and Sehun saw spots for a second. A punch in the gut had Sehun trying to double over but the men made sure he stayed upright for the next punch. The punches began to run together and it was becoming hard for Sehun to form a coherent strain of thoughts.  _I'm an idiot and I deserve this_ , was one.  _I wonder if anyone has ever died from a beating_.

He'd never been bullied in school, and his father had slapped him often enough, but never had Sehun felt bone crack above where his lungs were. He thought he was probably responding to their prodding jokes, because his mouth was moving, but he didn't know what he was saying.

"Take your fucking hands off him before I do something I regret." That got Sehun's attention, his ears perking up, his heart peeking at the world from beneath its blanket of delirium. The pounding stopped and Sehun drew a heaving, painful breath. He couldn't see very well and a trickle of warmness trickled down his cheek. 

He saw a figure in the doorway, blurrily, point something shiny at the his attackers. He felt them stiffen next to him. "Look man, I haven't ever seen you before, easy," he heard a voice say; he honestly couldn't remember who it belonged to. 

"Did you mishear me? I said take your hands off," came that melodious voice again. Gradually, the bruising fingers loosened around his arms and Sehun was left to stand on his own. Standing. He'd never realized how hard it was. His legs wouldn't listen to him, and he stumbled a little bit.

"Look, this fucktard was trying to hustle us out of our money. He deserves somethin' broken at least."

"Looks like he's at least got a broken rib. Seriously," came the voice, and now Sehun recognized it as Jongin's. "You are the scum of the world. Leave when you know someone's better than you. It's not his fault you can't play poker to save your life. Come here." That was directed at Sehun. Sehun's mind was clearing a little now, and mostly that just brought pain, but it also brought a little more understanding. Jongin didn't want to say his real name, so they could track him. He didn't want to call him  _babe_ , because then they'd both be faggots and that wasn't extra trouble that they needed.

Sehun walked over to Jongin with as much dignity as he could, threw his arm around his beau, and they made their way back through the bar. Sehun ducked his head; he didn't want that bartender, who'd seemed nice enough, to see him like this. Their footsteps sped up as they got closer to the door, and when it swung closed behind them they began to run in unison, the soles of their shoes slapping on the pavement as they distanced themselves from that place, their breath escaping in huffs, their hearts pounding, their lungs bellows to its fire. Then Jongin was hailing a cab for them and they were home, home to the smell of coffee and roses, and water was running in the bathtub for a bath.

Sehun was sobering up. "Jongin," he started. Jongin's jaw was clenched tighter than he'd ever seen it and though Jongin's hands were gentle, they passed over him like he was an object and not a person. It hurt.

"Don't, Sehun," Jongin said. "Let's just get you cleaned up and in bed. We can talk about it in the morning."

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be, I don't even think they cracked a rib—"

"Get into the goddamn bathtub," said Jongin. Sehun's eyes widened; he never would have predicted Jongin using this tone with him. So he hung his head and stripped, stepping gingerly into the bathtub and cleaning himself off, even though he didn't even feel that dirty. It was  _quiet_  here in his apartment. The water made loud plonks and his breathing sounded like a windstorm.

He tried to hear the sounds of the city he was sure were there, underneath everything, but he was so accustomed to them that he couldn't. Instead, he heard Jongin shuffling around the apartment, the sound of water being boiled for noodles. _What a terrible thing to do to Jongin_. The guy relied on him for shelter, and they were unfortunately the closest thing each other had to family. But with family came a kind of tether that made it impossible to just leave when you were mad at someone. Or even ignore them. Instead, noodles.

When he emerged, a steaming bowl of noodles waited for him at their tiny table and Jongin sat on the sofa smoking like a chimney, staring at nothing. Even nervous and tense like this, Sehun couldn't deny how stoically beautiful Jongin was, how fascinating the planes of his face, how ethereal the glow of his skin in the orange-yellow light.

"For me?" He muttered, when Jongin looked at him but didn't say anything. Jongin nodded, so Sehun sat down and inhaled; he was hungrier than he'd realized. It probably took him no more than two minutes to consume the whole thing, barely chewing, guilt making his stomach bottomless. His face stung a little, and when he twisted a lot he felt bruises on his torso, but otherwise he was mostly numb.

"Jonginnie, I'm so—" his voice cracked. He didn't even know what to say. It was too heavy. They were never heavy when they were together. "Was that a gun I saw you with?"

Jongin looked at him. He frowned, didn't pout. "Has anybody ever told you you're an addict?" he asked quietly, smoke floating across his face. Sehun swallowed.

"Do I count?"

Jongin scoffed, standing up and beginning to pace. "You can tell yourself you're an addict all you want, it doesn't matter. Addiction is the art of convincing yourself you're not addicted. God." He looked across the apartment at Sehun, his eyes shining with something Sehun had never seen before. "That was so,  _so_  stupid, Sehun."

"I know. I kn—"

"You  _know_!" Jongin strode up to him, picking him up from his chair by the collar of his shirt. Sehun had to close his eyes for a second; Jongin smelled so much like  _home_ that he worried he'd accidentally sway towards him. "That's the goddamn problem, you  _know_ but you—but you—" He looked flustered, his pupils huge orbs eclipsing the honey in his eyes. He licked his lips, then took a deep breath. Slowly, he pushed Sehun back against the wall, his hand still fisted in Sehun's shirt.

"Am I not enough to distract you? Did I fail to  _fuck_  you hard enough?" he asked, his breath hot in Sehun's ear. Sehun's eyes rolled up into his head a moment because Jongin's scent and heat was overwhelming. He tingled, his skin soft from the bath and tender from the beating. Jongin's mouth wandered down to his lips, where it took the place where it had been split, and he sucked. Sehun moaned; it stung.

"Answer me," Jongin growled, his fist tightening, his other hand pushing hard against Sehun's crotch. 

" _Shit_ ," Sehun breathed, squirming beneath Jongin. Jongin sucked a little harder on Sehun's lower lip, then attached his mouth to Sehun's neck, sucking and then biting down hard. With his other hand he reached into Sehun's pants to grip his cock at the tip and press his thumb into the tip.

" _Do I not satisfy you?_ " Jongin asked, sweeping his shirt off fluidly and then shoving him onto the bed. When Jongin climbed atop of him, he was shirtless too, the slightest shine of sweat present on his pecs. If Sehun wasn't hard before, he was now. "Sehun!" Jongin's hand went to Sehun's hair to yank his head back, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Answer. Me."

" _Yes,_ " Sehun choked out. Jongin threw his head down, making a sound in the back of his throat, reaching out casually for the bottle of lube, sweeping Sehun's pants down with his underwear. He gripped Sehun's hips with a bruising grip and turned him over so he was on all fours. A finger was immediately shoved into his ass, and Jongin wasn't slow about it. Sehun garbled, an incoherent mush tumbling from his lips as Jongin added another finger. 

Jongin had no pretense of not knowing exactly where to hit, except Sehun could feel the frustration in his partner, even in the way he pumped his hole. Then Jongin gave his ass a slap just as his finger swept across his prostate and Sehun yelped. Then Jongin did it again, and again, so Sehun's ass tingled and his stomach convulsed. 

Still, Jongin had no pretense. Jongin  _knew_ him, Sehun had been silly to ever think otherwise. He clenched on nothing moments before he would have come, moaning deep in his throat, pushing his head into the pillows before him, sticking his ass out more, pleading for Jongin's finger's back, feeling them on his rim teasing him. 

"Yes, what." Jongin's voice was, thankfully, a little shaky, like he was breathing a little heavily, too. Sehun could hear the foil of a condom ripping. "Do I fulfill your goddamn needs?"

He was still clenching, and Jongin's finger was still there, taunting him. "Yes, shit!" Sehun's hands fisted in the sheets. "You're more than satis—sat—" he had trouble saying the word. But it was enough and Jongin slammed his cock into him all the way to the hilt, pushing Sehun forward on the bed, ripping a raw moan from Sehun's throat.

Jongin stilled like that, listening to Sehun's heavy breathing, rubbing up and down Sehun's spine. Then, in his characteristically unpredictable manner, he pulled swiftly all the way out and let Sehun clench again, once, and whine, and then slammed in again, not stilling this time. He began to pound, skin on skin echoing in the room, and the occasional slap of Sehun's ass, and Sehun's garbled moans.

He stilled again when he felt Sehun clenching unevenly around him, and Sehun could have sworn he smirked behind him even as his breathing came heavy while Sehun cursed, frustrated beyond coherence. Once Sehun had calmed down, Jongin kept right on pounding into him. Sehun tried to hold it together this time until Jongin's hips began to stutter and his grip tightened on Sehun's hips, wondering how long this damn night was going to last.

* * *

Author's note: Sorry for such a long chapter, whew! There was a lot to pack in. I'm... tired, lol—I always write at night. 

 **Comment what you think**! Subscribe! It makes me happy and when people show they're appreciating what I write it motivates me to write more ^^ ~seahorse


	8. The Road

"The road!" Jongin announced. Sehun squeezed his eyes shut and willed the light away, willed Jongin away. Damn it, that coffee smelled so good. Jongin gave him a hearty slap on the ass. "Get up! I've been inspired!"

"Who was it this time?" Sehun finally asked, squinting his eyes against the hot light of midday. "Chanyeol doesn't travel, he's the fucking warden of Chicago, so who—"

"Doesn't matter," Jongin replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Actually, it was Namjoon. He's not as crazy as I remember him, you know. That crew he runs with has been good for him."

"Don't they call themselves bulletproof or something?" Sehun asked, yawning, running a hand through his hair. He was getting tired of this constant urge to drink. It was unsettling how well Jongin knew him, because a fresh mug of coffee and gin was placed gingerly into his hands.

"Something like that," Jongin replied, a fond smile gracing his face. Sehun was suprised at how quickly Jongin's rage flared and faded; it was only a day later and Jongin acted like the fading bruises against Sehun's ribcage were no big deal. It made him wonder about Jongin's past. "But that's not important. I know what the fuck I'm doing out there. Here—" he gestured around the small apartment. "This is your land. You'd love it. Different air every day. An unsteady income can actually be exhilarating. I've always thought we should try a threesome." He throws his head back and laughs when Sehun slaps him with a pillow.

"I haven't agreed yet," Sehun replied. Actually, he was suprised Jongin hadn't asked earlier. He could sense the wanderlust in his beau since the day they met, and every day Jongin stayed close was a day Sehun marveled and felt more loved than he would have thought possible. He could only suppress Jongin's nature for so long.

"Give me one good reason not to spirit you away to Pittsburgh right now," Jongin replied, absently passing a deck of cards between his hands. 

"College," Sehun said eloquently. 

"Pooh."

"Don't pout at me. I have classes."

Jongin pouted.

They were on the road towards Pittsburgh two hours later, two suitcases between them in Chanyeol's well-used mustang. Jongin had given the car to Junmyeon in parting and Sehun had never had a need for a car. Sehun watched in fascination as Jongin deftly shifted gears, the coordination of his muscles and the car like a physical symphony. 

"I never did learn to drive," Sehun lamented forlornly.

Jongin glanced at him, suprised. "Really? Shit, that's a life skill. Let me explain to you why it's important to be able to drive, and to be able to drive a stick. I used to know this guy named Jiho, back when I was  _really_ a kid, I'm talking twelve, thirteen, whatever. He was older. Crazy genius motherfucker. If you get to know him, you get to kow your limits where adrenaline is concerned. For me, it's in quiet pool rooms where I can take my time to line up my shot. When we met..."

Sehun leaned back in his chair, lulled by the breakneck, constant motion of the car, and listened to Jongin's mild, deep voice recount past adventures. He wondered why people ever talked about road trips like they were a pain.

* * *

"Thank  _god,_  I have to piss," Sehun said gloomily, tumbling out of the car and barreling straight into the casino, leaving Jongin to pay for their room. "And a damn shame, it's right on the river and no windows," he mumbled to himself. He was a little drunker than usual, but only a little. It would wear off. 

He found Jongin at the pool tables, not playing, but watching with a frightening intensity, his arms crossed over his chest. He turned his head slightly when Sehun wrapped his arms around his waist from behind. "I thought we were playing cards, nini," Sehun murmured into Jongin's ear. Jongin sighed like he was saying goodbye to the green felt.

"Yes, we are, we are," he muttered, leading Sehun to the card tables. And  _oh_. Sehun knew there were casinos in Chicago, but he and Jongin had never gone to any. Here were people with beautiful hands doing things with cards that looked properly professional. Sure, Sehun liked to add more flare to what he did, but they had the basic concept, their hands flowing fluidly across the swirling cards.

Jongin picked out a game of texas hold 'em (poker) to join and Sehun just sat there and lost for a while, soaking it up, one hand excited on Jongin's thigh, a constant reminder of his gratefulness. Eventually, just like Jongin had taught him, he began to win, until he'd made around a thousand dollars. Then he graciously bowed out and dragged Jongin to claim their money.

"Your face is all flushed," Jongin commented with a small smile. "It doesn't even do that when you're drunk." That only made Sehun blush harder.

Half of Sehun wanted to give in to whatever coercive layout the casino had, whatever manipulative lighting, and stay there gambling all night and all day. But gratefulness won, and Jongin enjoyed a very  _very_ pleasant night in their small hotel room.

Jongin groaned the next morning when Sehun jumped on him like a puppy, dressed and fresh faced. "Come  _on_ , I made you coffee," Sehun implored. "I want to see it in the morning, while everyone is asleep. I want to see the monster when it's empty.

Jongin's ass was a little sore from last night but he appreciated the gesture, suprised when he tasted the coffee and there was no alcohol in it. "You know, that's how you know a real hustler, that's how you know you're dedicated," Jongin shouted at Sehun who was presumably primping in the bathroom. "Wanting to see it all without the glamor."

"I was born for this Jongin, I swear," Sehun replied. He took Jongin's coffee from his hands carefully and then Jongin was knocked back on the bed with an oof, and Jongin couldn't help smiling against Sehun's lips. But he didn't want to get caught up in the horizontal tango, not when he knew what Sehun really wanted, so he pushed Sehun off of him with some effort and kicked his ass, finally rising and cleaning up enough to be seen, even sweeping his hair back. 

They decided to start on the floor, where they'd been last night. Sehun eyed the card tables with almost as much ardor as Jongin eyed the pool tables. They were in sync enough for Sehun to realize Jongin's drifting, and finally Sehun waved his boyfriend off with an impatient humph, mumbling something about exploring. Jongin watched his ass swish back and forth until he'd turned a corner and then he was immediately at the pool table, reaching for the balls. It had been entirely too long since he'd last had a good practice without asessing eyes watching his every move. He had to keep his profile low for Atlantic City in a few months; a chance at private practice was golden.

"Kim Jongin, as I live and breathe."

He knew that velvet voice.

A small, beautiful man stepped out of the shadows on the perimeter of the room, cue in hand. He wasn't dressed quite as well as he had been in Chicago—simple slacks and a dress shirt were enough, the first few buttons popped open to reveal pretty collarbones. Jongin swallowed, his heart skittering.

"Shortie."

"Call me Kyungsoo, Jongin. We're not in Chicago. We're not at a tournament."

"You were Shortie for me." Jongin licked his lips, moving timidly towards Kyungsoo through the tables. "Kyungsoo." The name felt pretty and forbidden on his tongue.

"You're an amazing pool player." Jongin hated it, hated how closely he watched the twitch of Kyungsoo's mouth, the slight upward tilt of his eyebrows.  _Will I ever bring this man down from his pedestal?_   _Will I ever see him as just a man?_

Kyungsoo watched him with that soft, slightly amused expression, like he could see into Jongin's mind. "Let's practice. Convenient that you're here and I'm here and the bosses aren't. We could get in some really good practice."

Jongin scoffed. "The boss. Mine's gone for good."

"Mmm." Kyungsoo was gathering balls and setting them up on the table now. His movements were fascinating. "For the best, I guess. He should never have given you that first drink."

Jongin stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What, do you think I beat you on skill? You could sink any shot you wanted sober. Any shot you wanted." Kyungsoo leaned across the table to line up his shot, naming the ball he intended to sink. Jongin's mouth fell open; that ball was in the middle of the triangle, no way was that shot possible! Shortie—Kyungsoo—could have any ball he wanted!

He missed, and Jongin laughed. Kyungsoo laughed along with him. "Practice, right?" He moved Jongin into place with a soft hand on Jongin's waist. Figuring it would be in bad faith to take an easy shot, so he looked for the most impossible shot on the table.

Kyungsoo giggled behind his mouth when the ball sank. Jongin flashed him a smile, and Kyungsoo watched it closely.  _What was going on?_

Jongin missed the next shot on purpose, telling himself it was decorum. Surely he still had the need to win, and it was safe and sound, asleep. Kyungsoo prowled around the table slowly, like he was trying to decide. It was obvious; there was one shot that was hardest, and all the rest were fairly easy. Again Kyungsoo leaned low across the table, his back arching a bit, his adam's apple bobbing as he lined up his shot.

Jongin ran a hand through his hair. It was morning, godddamnit, he hadn't asked for this. He was starting suspect that Kyungsoo was doing this on purpose, especially because he  _knew_ how Kyungsoo played. He'd gone almost twenty-four hours playing the man, he knew his game inside and out. He'd also played in enough smoky black rooms with foxy, pretty young things to recognize that  _this_ was not the game. Maybe it was practice, maybe a small part of it.

This was seduction. 

He leaned against the neighboring pool table as if he were lounging, trying to calm his breathing. Trying to get himself to stop acting like a damn high schooler. This was when he should leave. But he knew he wouldn't and so did Kyungsoo. The man even had the hubris to rack his cue and come over to stand in front of Jongin, his hands easy in his pockets.

"Has anybody ever told you—"

"Stop." Jongin ran his hand through his hair again. "Sto—" his words were coming out breathy and pleading, not measured like they sounded in his head. "Stop, it's too early for this."

"—that you're the sexiest fucking pool genius in the country?"

 _No._ Anyone but Shortie,  _anyone—_ and Jongin would have laughed in their face, or else disappeared into the crowd to go find Sehun. Shortie  _knew_ the weakness, borne of professional veneration and adoration, that Jongin harbored for him. He took a step forward and Jongin's legs fell open against his will. A hand emerged from his pocket and moved lightly up Jongin's thigh to rest on his hip, and Jongin stared down at Kyungsoo through his eyelashes.

"I've been told that before, actually," he murmured. "Often, in fact."

Kyungsoo shrugged. "Oh, that kind of thing never loses its luster. I'm sure it still makes you glow inside."

" _Kyungsoo._ " It was a whimper, a plea.

"Jongin?"

Jongin felt Kyungsoo draw away, his hand leaving his hip and returning to his pocket. Jongin let out a shaky breath. "Sehunnie." The word was a prayer and a whisper of gratitude. 

"Who's this?" The words were clipped as Sehun strode over, towering over Kyungsoo until he moved away a few more steps so Sehun could wrap a possessive arm around Jongin's waist. 

"Don't know if I ever told you why you... found me like you found me. This is Chicago Shortie. Beat me at pool."

Sehun's eyes widened as he looked between Jongin and Kyungsoo in understanding. His grip on Jongin's waist tightened marginally and Jongin felt his stomach twist; he was sure Sehun felt threatened, and rightly so; as much as Sehun understood enchantment with an art, they didn't share the  _same_ art. Except, perhaps, for the hustling part.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Sehun said finally. "Nini, were you playing? I found the cutest little bar for us to raid." Jongin didn't miss the small raise of Kyungsoo's eyebrows.

"No," replied Jongin, still unable to tear his eyes away from Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo's manner hadn't changed even though Sehun was practically fused with him. His eyes beckoned. "No, it was nothing important. Let's see it, babe."

Sehun had to pull at him a little to get him up but eventually Jongin was up and they were walking away, Sehun's hand moving to Jongin's ass for a firm squeeze. Jongin smiled to himself. At least his body knew who it belonged to. His ass felt thoroughly fucked.

* * *

Jongin looked for Kyungsoo—he couldn't help it—that night, but maybe had moved on, and maybe that strange old man who'd refused to move back when they'd played had pulled him out of Pittsburgh all together.

Sehun didn't talk to him about it, but that just made Jongin appreciate him more; after all, it wasn't like he'd kissed Kyungsoo. That night was just as sparkling but Sehun was a little less reserved, losing less and winning more so that Jongin felt like he had to constantly move the boy from table to table to keep the dirty looks from coalescing. Still, he wasn't made for simple companionship. Sehun's smile made his heart swell, but the pool tables looked as sexy as they ever had. 

He found himself latching onto one person at a time and watching them for a few minutes, finding their tells, or their ticks, as Sehun liked to call them. Imagining lives for them. That Irish looking fellow was probably visiting from Cleveland and had a wife and two kids. Probably lived in one of those dull housing complexes and drank too much beer but watched a James Bond with his wife one night and decided he should get a taste.

As the night got later and Sehun didn't show any sign of slowing down, he began to create more in depth stories, until he found himself lingering on the same woman. What was happening to him?

* * *

"Hey babe, you see that girl there?"

"Hm." Sehun was feeling very drunk and utterly sated, his chips stacked high and his hand of cards comfortable. Jongin was warm and his skin glowed beside him.

"There." Jongin pointed at a tall girl in a long black dress. She looked incredible bored at her table, but she was beautiful all the same. "She's hot."

"Tell me something," Sehun said, his mouth quirking upwards. "Does going on the road make you find everyone attractive?"

"Honestly, I couldn't say?"

"Nah, I meant that in a general sense." Sehun grinned and slid his eyes towards Jongin, throwing his cards down. "I think she's hot too." He respectfully bowed out of the game and then, against Jongin's protestations, he cashed in his chips, satisfied with the few thousand he'd made. It was technically the morning anyway.

"Hi." 

Her eyes flicked upwards bewitchingly and Jongin licked his lips. It had been Sehun to speak first. Sehun held out his hand. "You look incredible bored. I'm Sehun."

The girl snorted and gave him her hand. Sehun kissed it and Jongin had to hold himself in, instead squeezing Sehun's ass indignantly. He smirked when he saw Sehun clench his jaw. "Krystal," she replied. "I've been winning for literally the past hour, and I'm afraid these sweethearts are too in love with me to admit they want me gone." She pouted and rested her chin in her hand. Clearly it was just a pointed jeer at the table, who looked anything but enchanted. She smiled blithely at them.

"Who's your friend?" She asked, playing a card. "Kim Jongin," replied Sehun. That got her attention, and she turned to look Jongin up and down. 

"I've heard of you," she said, her eyes sparkling. "You've been staring at me half the night."

Sehun turned to him indignantly. "Don't worry," Jongin said, trying not to laugh. "I spent the other half looking at you, babe." Sehun blushed and elbowed him. 

"Aww." Krystal looked between them with patronizing eyes. "You two are cute. And hot. You're that pool player, right?"

"Yeah," Jongin said. "Sehun plays cards."

"Cards, hmm? Well, I'd have to see it to believe it."

Sehun held up the cash they'd won for the night, still in its official packaging. Krystal raised her eyes but clearly she wasn't overly impressed. With a brief glance Jongin could tell that she had at least that much at her table alone. 

"Well, let's be friends, shall we? What's the worst that could happen. It will certainly be interesting," Krystal said, dropping her cards with a shrug of her shoulders, collecting the chips scattered in the pot.

* * *

Author's note: Comment your thoughts, as always! Thoughts on Kyungsoo and Krystal? :) ~seahorse

 


	9. Luck and Baseball

"Jongin!" Jongin startled, sticking his head around the corner of the kitchenette. Krystal and Sehun sat across from each other, freaking out, flipping cards around more quickly than Jongin could keep track of. Sehun had never screeched for him like that, not even when he'd been abducted by those shady card players.

"What?" Jongin scowled.

"No! Don't tell him, don't—" Krystal dissolved into giggles, clutching at Sehun's shirt, trying to keep him from saying something. Sehun was grinning, his face glowing in the reddish light of the lamp, trying to hold her at arm's length. Her dress had slipped dangerously low and Jongin idly worried about a nip slip.

He turned back towards the kitchen, where he was trying to make noodles with just a microwave. Surely the kids couldn't cook. The time when Sehun tried to make ramen noodles in a pan with just butter still haunted him. "Don't!" There was a squeal from the living room and the sound of cards spraying and Jongin came into the living room in time to see cards floating down in a shower over Sehun and Krystal. Sehun was on his feet, laughing with abandon, and Krystal clutched at his pant leg, her eyes turned upwards as cards fell from the ceiling. 

"Krystal's your fangirl," Sehun singsonged, spraying more cards from his hand. Krystal slumped, punching him in the calf and trying but failing to pout.

"My fangirl?" Jongin came fully into the room, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling. "How possibly? I haven't been famous in the States for more than half a year."

"She was literally your paparazzi when—when— _Soojung, you lost, remember?"_  He grinned down at the girl still trying to fell him, chopping behind his knees like he was a tree.

"You're kidding." Jongin grinned, padding forward to stand next to Sehun. "Soojung that gave me my cue? My Michaletti cue?" When he'd won Nationals in Japan he'd gotten a graceful case with the single nicest cue in the world, one of just six crafted, its shaft perfectly balanced and oiled, intricately painted. 

"I'm—Krystal—here," Soojung panted, giving up on Sehun, who was out of cards, in favor of chopping at Jongin's knees. Jongin fell quickly with a thump and Sehun followed him, collapsing into his lap. "I can't believe he really told you. Oh my god, that's so embarrassing. I'm forever a fangirl. My sexiness level has dropped like a thousand percent."

"You just didn't believe I could beat you," replied Sehun smugly, and Jongin could hear the pride in his voice. "Soojung is supposedly the best card player on the east coast," he explained, his voice dipping into sarcastic skepticism. 

"That can't be how cards work," Jongin replied, reclining his back against the couch and winding his hands naturally around Sehun's waist. Sehun was idly picking at the thread in Jongin's pants and Soojung was collecting the fallen cards like she physically couldn't let cards rest in such disorder for a long period of time. "It's a game of luck!"

"Well, that just means it matters more  _who_ you play and everything," Soojung replied. "Politics and everything. It's not a game of brutish skill. All  _you_ have to be able to do is hit a ball with a stick. It's practically baseball."

"Excuse me!" Jongin said in consternation. "I thought you were my fangirl! That's not a very nice fangirl thing to say!"

"Well, you hit the ball with a stick very well. I should deny it. I can't believe. That jack came outta your goddamn  _sleeve_ ," she said, pinching Sehun's leg, making him jerk against Jongin. Jongin grunted. 

"Watch the dick, baby, it's your favorite thing, you should take care of it," he muttered, dumping Sehun off his lap. Soojung tried to hold back a mocking scoff but Sehun just erupted into more laughter. It was a curious thing: Sehun had barely had anything to drink, by his standards. They hadn't even finished the first bottle of brandy between the three of them. He decided he liked giggly Sehun. 

"Hit the ball with the stick," Jongin scoffed in mock glumness, lightly hitting Soojung on the back of the head as he rose to go try to finish their food. A half hour later he had something edible and the three of them settled down on the floor in front of the couch to watch the old Humphrey Bogart movie the hotel was playing. It was interesting, and Jongin didn't get distracted, and neither did Sehun. Jongin didn't even get up to put their bowls away once they were done—surprisingly, Soojung was second to finish, after Sehun, who ate practically everything in one breath.

Once done, she put her bowl carelessly to the side and stretched out, putting her long legs across Sehun's lap, her feet just hanging off Jongin's. Her legs were really, really smooth and Jongin wondered how she kept them like that. When the movie was over and the credits had rolled he spent a full five minutes whining at Sehun before he agreed to do the dishes. Soojung groaned when they carefully moved her legs off their laps, throwing a hand over her face like she was asleep.

"Yes, you can sleep here, Soojung," Jongin said, rolling her eyes, and the arm came off Soojung's face in a second, a wicked little grin on her face. 

"Thank you, boys," she said, and pranced over to the bathroom where Jongin heard her start the shower. Jongin followed Sehun into the kitchen, appreciating the lazy swish of his ass when he walked barefoot. 

"Nini?" Sehun asked as he rinsed their dishes. Jongin hummed to show he was listening, leaning against the counter next to Sehun, and resting a hand on his ass. "Do you think if we asked, Soojung would come to DC with us?" 

He wanted to take her on the road. Jongin had already told Sehun that a hundred thousand was the most they should make in Pittsburgh before they moved on and they both knew that one more night was the max they would stick around. Jongin shrugged. "I've never done a road circuit with three people. But you're the card expert. It's okay with me. Maybe she'd come, being  _my_ fangirl and all." He smirked when Sehun made a face, drying his hands on a towel. 

"Although," he murmured, still smiling as Sehun pushed his legs open and moved to stand between them, "She seems more like  _your_ fangirl. I'm jealous." He pouted.

"Jealous, hmm?" Sehun seemed to like the idea, running his hands up and down Jongin's thighs as Jongin wrapped his arms around Sehun's neck. "Don't worry, baby, I like you best." He licked playfully at Jongin's lips. "You  _and_ your dick." 

Jongin huffed a laugh, pulling Sehun forward by the nape of his neck for a kiss. He loved how familiar Sehun's lips seemed now, loved how they always seemed to suprised him. Sehun's hips were always hungry; they always made him feel wanted. His hand by force of habit moved down Sehun's chest and stomach to his pants, dexterously unbottoning them. Sehun caught his wrist there and Sehun pulled away enough to look at Jongin.

"What about my dick, babe? Is it your favorite thing too?"

Jongin licked his swollen lips sinfully. "Of course," he whispered, forcing his hand lower against Sehun's hand until Sehun let go in favor of shifting Jongin onto the table.

* * *

Either Soojung was bored in Pittsburgh or she wanted to get away from the boss she was under, which Jongin more than understood. She said yes right away the next morning over a breakfast in Mount Washington, looking over the city between three rivers sparkle in the morning light.

Her small nod and small smile seemed huge, and Sehun broke out grinning, and the three of them laughed. So they all packed giddily and that afternoon they were on the road. It was only four hours to Washington, DC, and they spent the whole time singing at the top of their lungs to the radio. Soojung even offered to drive, although after an hour terrified for his life and terrified that they'd be sent to prison forever, Jongin took over again. 

DC was much bigger than Pittsburgh and there was much more money. Jongin, Sehun, and Soojung stuck to poolrooms the first few nights, letting Jongin stay sharp on his skills. Sometimes Jongin could feel Soojung staring at him with a fierce intensity as he played, and he never could decide whether it made him play better or of it made his arm shaky. Her stare was the sort that could see straight through to your soul. Then she'd blink and see him looking at her, and then blow it off, smirking. Her and Sehun got along like the best of friends, constantly playing cards. Their second night in DC was the first time Jongin ever saw Sehun ruin a deck of cards after he'd been dared to play with Soojung on a windy balcony. He looked like he was about to cry, but then Soojung hit him in the arm and he hit her back and it was all okay.

The third night they went to a real casino and straight to the card games. Soojung wore a deep blue dress with a punging neckline and distracted all the boys at the card table, which would have been great, except Sehun got distracted, too. She noticed, and teased him about it. It felt like each of them were thinking about inciting sexual tension about it, but either they were too lazy or too enveloped in being friends, and in the end the night concluded with a lot of polaroids of the three of them drunk, mouths hanging wide with laughter, eyes scrunching at the corner, raising a glass and some stacks of money.

For a week or so then, everything was perfect.

One night, everything exploded—elegantly, as befitted some corners of their business. It exploded in slow glances and small smiles and whispered words and light touches.

Soojung's dress for the night was a satin evergreen, styled like a clingy nightgown, held up by two thin straps. Soojung had never been ashamed of showing skin, and she laughed breezily when the boys gawked. Jongin contemplated not letting her come, but he didn't want to spoil the mood. Sehun stayed suspiciously silent, muttering something about  _marilyn monroe._

The floor was more crowded that night, and consequently warmer and smokier, since this was one of the last places in the city where smoking was still allowed. Jongin had a cigarette in his mouth before the elevator doors opened. Soojung and Sehun were murmuring about where to go first, so he just idly followed them as they wound through the slight press of people. Jongin had to quash the instinct to growl at the potbellied men whose three-piece suits did Kyungsoo an injustice who looked too long at Soojung.

They settled at a table, but Jongin didn't like it; it was a little rowdy and the tips of a few of the men's noses were a little too red. They themselves were just starting on their first glasses. He voiced his concern in Soojung's ear, his hand wrapping around her waist as he asked her if they could move to a different table. She relayed the message to Sehun's ear and he shook his head slightly, skipping Soojung in the middle to lean over to Jongin and sweep his lips over Jongin's ear.

"They're loaded but they're playing poor because they know they can't play for shit," he muttered. "We stay." 

Jongin pouted but stayed, even when he heard a lewd comment behind him about polygamy and faggots. The slow pace at which Sehun and Soojung collected money chafed tonight; it had been awhile since he'd had a cue in his hand and his thumbs itched to prop up a good shot.

Finally a mousey man with a mustache a few decades removed asked him politely for his seat and he made a small annoyed sound in the back of his throat, putting out his cigarette and standing, pulling Sehun back a little so he'd look at him. He made a motion with his thumbs and Sehun just nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. Jongin was handicapped for a moment; he'd never quite had that before—maybe a little with Junmyeon, but Sehun could understand him perfectly without a single word being uttered.

He stopped short before fully entering the poolroom, identifying the porcelain skin and lithe form immediately, instinctively sinking back into the shadows and the hustle and the bustle. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face Kyungsoo again. Not after how close it had been last time. He knew Sehun wouldn't come looking him for a few hours.

Jongin stood there, tense, holding his glass tightly, for a long time, torn between the need to play and the need to avoid Kyungsoo. Eventually the need to play won out, and Jongin told himself it wasn't because he also didn't  _really_  want to avoid Chicago Shortie. He chose a table in the back corner where he could crush a few people without getting a side glance.

Slowly, he relaxed. It felt _good_ to play again. The alcohol of the drink and the nicotine of the cigarette got to him better when he had a cue in his hand and the clack of eight-balls in his ears. He knew he was getting too engrossed but he let it happen anyway, so he jumped when he heard a smooth velvet voice behind him.

"Funny seeing you here."

Kyungsoo stood behind him, hands comfortably in his pockets, watching Jongin with mild eyes. His suit today was grey and his tie was purple, matching his pocket square and making his skin seem pearly pale even under the warm casino light. Jongin let out a heavy breath. "Kyungsoo."

They stood there a moment looking at each other, eyes snapping, before another voice pushed in. "That's the one that almost beat you a few months back, isn't it?" This voice was even more refined than Kyungsoo's, but it was scruff with age. The man who had refused to move; Jongin remembered him with the haze of drunkenness surrounding him. He saw Kyungsoo's expression change almost imperceptibly, as if a sheer curtain were being pulled across it.

"Jongin, this is Lee Soo Man, my manager. I don't believe the two of you have properly met." He looked positively gloomy to be making the introduction.

Soo Man, on the other hand, smiled a toothy smile and fixed his glasses, holding out a hand for Jongin to shake. "You're amazing," Soo Man said. "Your technique looks totally untaught. Totally natural." He pondered Jongin for a moment. "Shame you're an inborn loser."

"Excuse me?" Jongin asked, eyebrows shooting up. 

"You could of beat Shortie, come on," Soo Man replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "Manifests itself in only gamblers, I swear, it's a scourge. You think the thrill comes from winning, but it comes from convincing yourself that there's a reason why you lost."

"Yeah, I lost—It was twenty-four hours straight of pool, and I was drinking—"

"Oh, indeed, you were drinking, you were smoking, you were loafing over there with your little manager scurrying around fetching you a cold press for your worries. But we can talk about that later. Am I correct in believing you're no longer with—" Soo Man licked his lips. "Kim Junmyeon?"

Jongin stared in disbelief at Kyungsoo's manager, then looked back to him. Kyungsoo's face was stony and unmoving.

"Your're correct," he replied finally, clenching his jaw. Soo Man's mouth quirked upwards. "Want a job?"

"Wha—you're—" Jongin sputtered, taken aback by the forwardness of this man. He hadn't asked for this when he'd met Kyungsoo. "You just called me a loser, like, a second ago!"

Soo Man shrugged. "It can be fixed. I can try, at least. I can also make you a very rich man. That's what you want, isn't it? You seem like the type to savor the feel of some real green passing between your fingers."

"How the fuck would you know that?" Jongin felt crude for swearing here, so he angrily flipped a cigarette out of its box and stuck it in his mouth, fishing out his lighter. It was suddenly swept out of his hand by Kyungsoo, who lit it for him, that same stony, unreadable expression on his face, no matter how intently Jongin stared.

"I can sense it in people. That's part of this game too. Sensing people. Being measured and patient. There's a lot I could teach you, kid."

Jongin was nervous now. Either Soo Man was asking Jongin to come on the road with him or he wasn't. And if he was, either he meant for Jongin to come  _with_ Kyungsoo or he meant to drop Kyungsoo in favor of Jongin, a move which Jongin himself could counsel against. On top of that, he knew he couldn't say anything but no, because there were two beautiful, kind people gambling and drinking away in the next room who he cared very much about. But refusing someone like Soo Man was no small thing; the man was at the top of the top of pool, and if you made him mad it was possible you wouldn't be able to play anywhere of consequence ever again. He had that much power. 

"I—" he swallowed, realizing his hand was still steadying Kyungsoo's wrist in front of his cigarette, which was smoking away. "I'm afraid I've got to stay in DC for a while."

"That's fine," Soo Man replied, his beady eyes watching Jongin's expression for the slightest giveaway. "So do we. Come find me when you've made up your mind. I'd bet twenty bucks you've got too much loser in you to even seek me out." He smirked, then patted Kyungsoo on the back, wandering away.

"You should leave tonight," Kyungsoo murmured under his breath. "I've seen those kids you're here with. They don't deserve fucking Lee Soo Man."

"What are you talking about? He's the best of the best!" Jongin knew he was whining but he didn't care. "People would kill to be under his tutelage. He could make a millionaire out of anyone!"

Kyungsoo's jaw clenched in annoyance. "You can be a fucking millionaire in more ways than one." He raked a hand through his hair. "We shouldn't talk about shit like this." 

"Why not?" asked Jongin, taking a step forward, cornering Kyungsoo a little against the wall. "Why shouldn't we talk about this? Why don't you just talk to me like a normal human being?"

" _Because_ ," Kyungsoo gritted out, "You want to fuck me and I want to fuck you but you've got a boy—and, if I'm not mistaken, now, a girl—and it's all too sensual to fuck up with awful business. Just trust me, will ya? I'm technichally your senior."

Jongin hadn't heard the part Kyungsoo had intended for him to hear. Perhaps a little too much alcohol; that's what he told himself. He rested a hand against the wall and leaned in, realizing that Kyungsoo smelled deliciously masculine, like bark and old libraries. "I want to fuck you and you want to fuck me?" He asked, licking his lips. "Did I just hear you right?"

"Don't, Jongin. It's fun, but... don't." Kyungsoo pushed him away roughly, snatching his glass from the table and raising it tiredly to Jongin as he disappeared back into the crowd.

Jongin huffed and whirled, turned off pool for the night, deciding to go back and find Sehun and Soojung. His pants were too tight and his drink wasn't enough to calm him down; he needed Sehun's mouth, Sehun's touch, Sehun's body draped around him, blocking everything else out. They weren't at the table he'd left them at, or at any other table, and it had been a solid two hours, so he figured they could have gone back to the room.

The _do not disturb_ sign hung slightly crumpled on the door, but he slid his keycard in anyway, flinching at how loud the beep sounded in the deathly silent hotel. 

His ears were immediately barraged when he stepped inside the hotel room. It wasn't that it was very loud, but the sounds crashed harshly against his ears just the same. Breathy moans, needy whines, the slight creak of the bed. He ventured farther, a sick curiosity pooling in his stomach even though he knew exactly what he'd find. He knew that the prudent thing to do, especially in this situation, was to pull off his shirt and go join the two intertwined figures on the bed—play the jealous boyfriend and fuck Soojung to put her into her place and fuck Sehun to bring him back to spewing his name as he came.

But Jongin had been pushed a little too far that night, and his mind was muddled and confused between tall, lithe Sehun and small, intense Kyungsoo, and he stood mute in the doorway, watching Sehun devour Soojung's breast, his mind a million places.

Then he turned on his heel and shut the door carefully, taking the stairs to the lobby two at a time and returning to where he'd been just minutes before. There was Kyungsoo at one of the center tables, and there was Soo Man, watching with calculating eyes to the side. Kyungsoo seemed to be watching rather than playing; not that it mattered much to Jongin, but it might have to Kyungsoo and especially to Soo Man.

Kyungsoo let out a little yelp as he was pulled out of the light by an insistent hand and then dragged from the room, off into a side booth meant for shady business deals instead of the harsh, insistent press of lips that occurred instead.

Kyungsoo pulled away right away, pushing Jongin down onto a plush seat, his face partly hidden in shadow, his lips looking a sinful dark red. Jongin swayed forward, unable to help himself, reaching for Kyungsoo, uncaring at this point.

"Jongin, you're not thinking," said Kyungsoo quietly, his voice husky, putting his hands on Jongin's shoulders to keep Jongin a safe distance.

Jongin growled and gripped Kyungsoo's hips firmly. "Since when did you care so fucking much?" He muttered, pulling hard enough now that Kyungsoo fell onto his lap and he could finally capture those lips again. Kyungsoo resisted a moment more and then seemed to give up, his hand grabbing roughly at Jongin's hair and tilting his face up for better access to his mouth. They made out for a few minutes, an angry push and pull, toothy and sloppy and practically resentful, until the chafing of their crotches was too much and Kyungsoo stood abruptly, his chest heaving, eyes wide and drinking in the image of Jongin looking completely ravaged. 

"I take it we can't go to yours," Kyungsoo forced out, his voice laced with lust. Jongin shook his head slowly. Kyungsoo turned and began weaving his way through the last bit of crowd before the elevators, and Jongin followed him dumbly, reveling at how many times he'd gone up and down in one night. It was like a damn merry-go-round. 

When Kyungsoo pressed the button for his floor, he almost corrected Kyungsoo, thinking he hadn't made it clear that his room was off limits, before his foggy brain realized that there was, in fact, more than one room per floor. 

Thinking wasn't what he wanted to do. Kyungsoo didn't complain when Jongin cornered him for the short elevator ride, giving his ass a squeeze when the door dinged. They stumbled out, but by now Kyungsoo had had enough. He pushed Jongin against the wall, one hand down his pants gripping his ass, the other tangled in his hair, kissing along his razor jawline. Their crotches ground together obscenely, and Jongin was vocal about how he liked to be kissed. And sucked.

"What the motherfucking fuck?"

Jongin looked up and over Kyungsoo's shoulder with heavy lidded eyes and swollen lips into the face of his lover, who looked much the same. He had his undershirt on and a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants—he wasn't even wearing shoes. He had a bucket in his hand; Jongin absently realized he'd intended to get ice for champagne or beer or something. He laughed to himself.  _Champagne_. Some nice cold  _fuck Jongin_  champagne.

"Sehun," he choked out. Kyungsoo rested his weight against Jongin as he turned his head to look at Sehun, who was clenching his jaw, his knuckles getting white as he clutched the ice bucket.

"The  _ **fuck** , _Jongin, are me and Soojung not enough?"

"You're plenty for each other," Jongin shot back, his hands fisting in Kyungsoo's hair, keeping him close like a shield.

"Don't be like that, Nini, you know it's you." Sehun's voice was quiet and resigned.

Jongin was silent. He  _did_  know that. What was wrong with him? It wasn't really Sehun in the wrong at all, it was him, wrapped around this other man who he was dangerously attracted to. And here was Sehun just staring at him with calm, hard, eyes, the only thing giving him away the slight tremor in his hands.

"Get lost, asshole," he heard. Kyungsoo slowly extracted himself from Jongin, avoiding any eye contact, and stumbled down the hallway, stopping at a room and disappearing inside. Jongin lurched drunkenly towards Sehun, who was in no better state of sobriety to catch him or react much at all. Still, Sehun jerked back and Jongin nearly fell flat on his face, his mouth making shapes meant to the beginning of a plea.

"Not tonight," Sehun said, his jaw clenching, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "You sleep like the drunken  _fuckup_  you are, tonight.  _Outside_  the door." He whirled and closed the door of their hotel room, leaving Jongin to slide down it, his head pounding. 

He cried out, punching it once, a crazed grin spreading on his face as he felt the pain in his knuckles, but Sehun didn't emerge. So he slid to the ground, so that his form lay pressed against the bottom of the door, and curled up into a ball, wondering if he had it in him to light another cigarette. He didn't, and instead, sleep took pity on him and pulled him under.

* * *

Author's note: a HUGE update! Let me know what you think in comments! I don't... I don't even know what to say about this chapter. Except that it's been running around in my head and I'm glad I finally got around to writing it.

~Seahorse


	10. Positions

When Jongin's eyes fluttered open, he imagined this softness was only achievable in heaven. His back still hadn't re-adjusted from his stint sleeping on the subway. He wondered whether he was lying on anything at all. Everything smelled pleasant and everything was light and quiet. It was his breath that gave him away, leaving his mouth in a betraying whisper. White sun streamed in the large window, and with it, a pressure totally contradicting the lightness with which it skipped across the white-painted furniture and white bedsheets of the hotel room.

Sehun must have changed his mind and brought Jongin in after Jongin had fallen asleep. Hadn't even bothered to wake him up. Whether this was good or bad, Jongin had no inkling. It just meant Sehun was kind. Just as anyone would sooner hurt a mean person than a kind one, the realization pressed against Jongin even more strongly. 

It was inevitable, he thought, as his breath moved in and out of his body against his will. Everything had been too perfect, the shining ideal of his life's potential, and such perfection is inherently fleeting. In order to be understood as the perfection it was, it had to disappear. Jongin wondered if his clothes made a dark, accusing mark againt the white starched sheets. In fact, his mind was convinced of it, in its hungover, tumultuous state, even though his clothes hadn't been in contact with anything particularly dirty.

Sluggishly, Jongin rose and swung his legs over the side of the bed, glad he was still in his rumpled suit from last night. Sehun lay in the other bed, curled up into almost a fetal position as if to shield himself from the light that illuminated the scar that ran along the side of his face. Jongin wondered for the millionth time how he'd gotten it.

He was halfway to the door before he stopped and wondered where he was going. They'd forgive him, both of them, in a moment. Really, he had his own grievances against them, and they were surely feeling almost as guilty as he was. It could go back to how it was. So why did he feel so strongly that he had to turn away?

Maybe it had something to do with those deep, wide, insistent eyes and that quiet demeanor that he couldn't seem to shove completely from his mind.

Whatever it was, it was a fully-formed necessity in Jongin, and it wasn't changing: his feet led him out of the apartment of their own will, down the hall to the door he thought he remembered Kyungsoo entering last night. He'd always thought he was great at remembering things that had occurred while he'd been firmly in the realm of drunk.

The woman who opened the door was most certainly not Kyungsoo. She was white, middle-aged, in her pajamas, and unhappy about getting a visitor so early in the morning. She didn't recognize the name Kyungsoo or Chicago Shortie and probably thought he was one of the castaway lingerers who stayed drunk much too late and shrugged off the sun's ascent pretentiously.

The next door was opened, thankfully, by a sleepy, squishy Kyungsoo. His name escaped Kyungsoo's mouth in a puff of suprise. Jongin made to push past him into the room but Kyungsoo's arm blocked his way. With his other hand he rubbed his face like the friction would give him verve to approach the man before him.

"Can I come in?" Jongin asked, clenching his jaw, not ready for Kyungsoo to reject him. It wasn't an outcome he'd anticipated or prepared for.

"What are you doing here, Jongin? It's not even eight in the morning." Kyungsoo's voice was scratchier than it usually was but his eyes contemplated Jongin with that same steady gaze.

"I want to take your boss's offer. Go on the road." Jongin licked his lips. "Become a millionaire." There was something else unsaid in his reasons.  _Be with you._

Kyungsoo was already shaking his head. "No you don't. Jongin, you  _don't_. I was stupid, I never should have even approached you."

" _Kyungsoo_." Jongin's voice cracked, and he winced. It sounded like he was pleading. "You have to let me come."

"Why?" Now Kyungsoo sounded concerned, and that was worse, because it tugged at heartstrings Jongin had already carefully painted in bulletproof titanium. "Did something happen with that skinny blonde?"

"Does it really matter? I didn't think you'd care?"

"You overestimate my impassivity." Kyungsoo sighed. "You better come in." He moved aside and Jongin practically fell into the room, letting out a breath when he heard the thin door shut behind him. "The naiveté," Kyungsoo muttered, moving into the room after Jongin.

"Naiveté?" Jongin repeated, his voice quirking at the end, his eyebrows rising in suprise. "I've been in the buisness just as long as you. You're not a day over—" he looked Kyungsoo up and down— "three years older than me."

"Naiveté all the same," Kyungsoo shot back. "Look, I'm a Soo Man's way of roping you in. The _bait._ I'm the honey to the bee. You're better than me, but you drink too much and grumble a lot. But you'll get that lecture from him." Kyungsoo crossed his arms. "You might want to fuck me, but I saw how the blonde looked at you. And how you looked at him."

"Sehun."

"What?" Jongin had spoken so quietly Kyungsoo wasn't sure he'd heard him clearly.

"His name is Sehun. The blonde. He was fucking the girl when I came down and got you." Jongin was focused intently on a small tear in the rather plain wallpaper, his nail digging into it to discover just how far it was ripped, avoiding Kyungsoo's gaze. 

"Okay," conceded Kyungsoo. "Sehun. Why I was saying you're naieve—you're a kid, really—is because you're letting him mess with your head. Letting me. Hell, you're letting non-prescient substances order you about."

"Do you always talk like this?" Jongin asked, his throat tight, but a smile tugging at his lips all the same.

"Talk like what?'

"An old man."

Kyungsoo sputtered and glowered but eventually a smile emerged as the triumphant expression on his face. "I've been told I do.  Jongin. Look at me." 

Jongin looked.

"You need to at least talk to him before you up and leave. There's no reason not to. I'll still be here—" he licked his lips, his eyes slipping over Jongin's body— "If it doesn't work out." He grinned. "I'm not the innocent type of old man, after all."

Jongin giggled. "Wait but Soo, can I stay here, just for the morning? I need to calm down." He gestured vaguely at the dried rivulets of tears on his cheeks and his crumpled shirt.

"Soo?" Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow. "From Shortie to Kyungsoo to Soo? You move fast." 

"Fine, do you want to know what my final one was gonna be?" Jongin smiled. He was feeling a little better. Whether he had known it or not, coming here had been the right thing. He hadn't expected this man to be so wise or so lovely, but there he stood all the same, short but sturdy as a rock, eyes steady, silk pajamas floating a little in the breeze from the air conditioner.

"Do I?"

"Squish. Or Squishy. I hadn't decided yet."

"Let's keep it at Kyungsoo, or you're getting kicked out of my room just like you did Sehun's." Jongin smiled then, because Kyungsoo had expressed that in precisely the way that communicated to him just the opposite: Jongin was safe with Kyungsoo whatever the circumstances.

He took a shower while Kyungsoo had his suit sent down to be discreetly washed and brought back up, which resulted in a brief uncomfortable period of Jongin sitting awkwardly in a bathrobe while Kyungsoo did something or other on the computer, but nothing so very uncomfortable that Jongin felt awkward. Once he was showered and dressed he felt clean and fresh enough to suggest they go downstairs.

Kyungsoo immediately understood what he wanted, and it made Jongin wonder whether every pool player didn't feel as if the pool table exuded some kind of calming influence. They ordered crisp, hoppy beers and Kyungsoo bought Jongin and himself fat cigars. It stopped when Jongin asked Kyungsoo to play him.

"First of all, I'm not even allowed. It's a ludicrous preposition. Second of all, that's stress you don't want. Don't think I don't see it behind everything you do," Kyungsoo added, smiling ruefully. "You're still looking to beat me. I'm still technically superior to you."

Jongin stayed silent; anything he said would just give him away, because Kyungsoo was absolutely right. Still, they fell into easy conversation about pool and techniques and the restorative powers of a few hours with a cue in hand and the superior quality of Jongin's cue. Jongin's movements became less labored and the black cloud that had followed him into Kyungsoo's room that morning was slowly dissipating.

Eventually, Kyungsoo straightened to his full height and stretched a little. "What do you say to some lunch? You can try, but you can't live on smoke and drink." 

Jongin chuckled and his stomach rumbled at the same time, as if in chorus. He ordered the greasiest, most meat-laden hamburger the place offered. "Almost like a date," he joked, cleaning the grease from his fingers lazily with his napkin. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're still about your mission to  _seduce_ me." He said the word in joking, a smiling, good-natured jeer, and Kyungsoo smiled a little, but not as much as Jongin had expected.

"Appearances. You understand, I hope."

"Of course. Boss-man can't think otherwise." Jongin grinned. "Don't want him mistakenly thinking that you're not irresistible and delicious and sexy and—"

"Jongin?"

Jongin shut up very, very fast. Sehun stood in front of them looking illegal, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a hint of nipples visible through the shirt, dark roots showing beneath his rumpled hair. Jongin swallowed. "Sehun. Hi." It sounded stinted, and he knew it, and had to bite back the  _babe_ that so naturally came after a greeting.

"Jongin, can I talk to you?" Sehun's mouth was very small and he was unusually pale and Jongin wondered if he wasn't shaking. Jongin slid his gaze to Kyungsoo, who was staring intently at his food, but nodded at Jongin like he was giving some kind of permission.

"Sure. Sure, let's talk." Jongin stood up and walked towards Sehun with the uncomfortable feeling that he was walking towards really sexy hell. Doom in the form of an angel. It was very confusing. Sehun led him to one of the booths, just a few down from the one Jongin had used to kiss Kyungsoo last night. 

"Let me get everything straight, before you start to talk," Sehun said quietly, like he didn't trust his own voice. His scar was an angry red. "I catch you sucking face with someone who frankly, Jongin? Frankly he's intimidating to me. I see you guys last night, and then I  _let you back in_ , I fucking—I tucked you into the covers." Sehun's voice cracked. "I wake up and you're gone. I wander around looking for you and when I finally find you you're looking perfectly chipper and out on a date with the  _same guy_? You're really trying very hard to break my heart, here."

They were standing more than a foot apart, and the distance settled in a heavy, hostile ooze. "It's not like that," Jongin said quietly, trying to pull his thoughts together. He'd always told himself he was eloquent, that he could express himself in a pinch, but right now it was taking all his mental power not to crumple and let tears do the talking.

"It's not like that?" Sehun shot back at him, the words echoing false across the void. "What is it like, exactly? You're not enchanted with the handsome, senior pool player? God, you're whipped! You're fucking  _whipped!"_

"I'm whipped, but it's  _you_ , Sehun. Look, I'm not perfect, and I'm not very good at pretending to be. It's true, I had a kid crush on him, and he's fascinating as fuck, but none of that shit comes close to  _love_!" Jongin licked his lips. "I saw you and Soojung last night, and you know what, I was really fucked up."

"That old excuse," Sehun sneered at him. "First of all, that's  _my_ excuse, and second of all, it's a  _terrible_  excuse."

"That's what everyone seems to be saying!" Jongin threw a hand up incredulously. "But the fact remains: everything was spinning a little and I was horny and I had that surface— _surface_ —attraction—"

"You know you could have joined us. She had the hots for you, not me. I'm just lucky I'm pretty enough to be anyone's type." Sehun spit the words out savagely.

"Right. Logically, of course that makes sense. I'm a selfish person, Sehun. Alcohol reduced me to a seven year old and I wanted Kyungsoo and then waking up next to you in the morning. But I felt so incredibly shitty when it really happened—" Jongin was breathing hard and he had to pause to catch his breath, hot tears charging for freedom behind his eyeballs. "I felt so manipulative. I didn't go to Kyungsoo for sex this morning, okay? He's just a friend, helping a friend out of a bad mood. I know you'll never believe me, but I'd rather you hate me and not believe me when I've told you the truth then tell you a lie, although... It's tempting, because your smile is so goddamn cute."

Sehun was shaking his head. "Not good enough," he murmured. 

"Don't you believe that I love you?"

Sehun was silent, his face torn and untrusting.

"Sehun, you have to believe me. I love you more than I love  _pool_. To the moon and back. The kind of love you where I never want to leave your side, ever. Listen, I've never been sappy like this in my life before, so I need some indication if I'm getting my point across." Jongin took a tentative step forward, eyes focused on Sehun's chest because he didn't want to look him in the eyes. When he did, he saw that they had softened considerably.

"Well," Sehun said quietly, his voice taking on that dangerously seductive tint. "I think we should go back to the room and talk about this."

"The room? Why the room? Why—" Jongin made a small sound in the back of his throat as he was yanked out of the booth and towards the elevator, protesting his confusion.

"And stop pouting like that, it's hard enough not to kiss you as it is," Sehun snapped back at him. They were in the room soon enough and Sehun finally let him go, swinging him in to the room so that Jongin stumbled a little. "Listen up, chump," Sehun said, turning to face  him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You and I, we have a real problem. I don't know if you remember it, but there was a time, not so long ago, when you had me bent across the bed, whispering in my ear, asking me if you  _satisfied_  me. Now what is a person to think," his eyes narrowed, "when they're told, straight up, that their partner, who apparently loves them very much, decided to fuck a veritable stranger instead of have a smoking hot threesome with them?"

Jongin's mouth dropped open. "Sehun, that was  _not_ my train of thought  _at all_."

Sehun shrugged. "The fact remains. What is a person to think? What do I  _do_?" 

Then he bit his lip.

And it clicked. It still felt a little screwey, a little wrong, because what Jongin had done really was wrong, but he also kind of had a hard-on, and never in his life had Jongin professed to think with his brain over his dick. He had no particular advantage over other men in this area. So he took a step forward and Sehun uncrossed his arms, keeping his lip caught between his teeth. When Jongin was within range of him and reached out a hand, Sehun took a careful step back.

"Can I call you baby?" Jongin asked, unsure but tired of having to hold it back.

Sehun raised an eyebrow. "You've never asked permission before."

Jongini swallowed. "It's an unusual situation. Where is Soojung, anyway?" He took another step forward and this time Sehun stepped toward him, and Jongin felt like they were performing some kind of choreography.

"Soojung is tastefully and respectufully listening with her ear to the keyhole." Sehun smirked and Jongin was startled when he himslef laughed. Sehun still had that unreadable expression on his face, and that small smirk. His thumb pressed against Jongin's sternum and Jongin took a suprised step backward. Sehun didn't give him any leeway, advancing so they were just as close as they had been. 

Jongin remembered Soojung saying something about how playing cards was all about politics and who you play and how well you know the person across from you, but he'd never thought Sehun would apply his skill with  _him._  "What are you thinking, baby?" He murmured, taking another step backwards, and then another, each step measured and closely followed by Sehun, who took each step with a rolling sashay that made Jongin want to look from his face to his hips.

Finally he took a step backward and stumbled, the back of his knees hitting the bed. Sehun caught him lightning-fast, his hand shooting out and catching Jongin's belt so Jongin's arms flailed for a second. Sehun was suddenly right in his face, his breath hot and minty, leaning over Jongin. He was all that was keeping Jongin from falling back on the bed; if he let go of Jongin's belt, Jongin would fall back; it was a disconcertingly powerless position to be in. "I'm thinking it's been much too long since someone's bent  _you_ over."

He let Jongin fall, taking a step back and regarding the other as Jongin struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, a stark tent on full display in his pants, his pupils shot wide, his mind scattered. Sehun pulled his shirt off, his abs clenching againist the cool air. Then he stood as if he were waiting for something, his jaw clenched in determination.

"I... what do you..." Jongin was torn. Whatever was spinning around in Sehun's hand, he wanted it, he just had to figure it out. His guilit had spun itself into a need to please Sehun; to demonstrate that he was as much Sehun's as Sehun was his. Sehun's long fingerse rose from his side and gestured upward, then in a circular motion.

If it was a test of how well Jongin knew him, or how well they could communicate, Jongin passed, because he tugged his shirt over his head quickly and turned over, staring intently at the white bedspread below him, skin crawling and sensitive waiting to feel Sehun. 

Sehun let him squirm for a second bfore Jongin felt two long arms wrap around his waist and unbuckle his belt and then undo his pants. Jongin's stomach sucked in on instinct when Sehun's fingers brushed his skin and sent shivers up his torso. 

It was a strange sensation; usually he was heated by kissing or grinding or at least  _touching_  before there was someone sweeping off his pants and boxers. It made him feel  _obscenely_  naked. But he swallowed it, because  _he was Sehun's_.

Warm hands travelled from the juncture of his shoulders and his head to the end of his tailbone, following the slight swell of his ass and then moving down his thighs. Like Sehun was trying to make him shiver, trying to give him goosebumps.

He let out a heavy breath when a hand came back cold and wet and a finger slid inside him without preamble, biting his lip, trying to concentrate on the sound of Sehun's breathing. Sehun prepped him gently and carefully and then his fingers were replaced by his cock moving in harsh, targeted thrusts. Jongin grunted when Sehun found his prostate and Sehun preceded to pound precisely into it, still the only sound from him that breath.

Jongin finally let out a frustrated noise; he was stimulated, and his cock hung heavy below his stomach, but his body shook not from Sehun moving inside him but from want of something  _different_. He felt blinding tears prick the edges of his vision. He didn't  _want_ this. Why didn't he, when he was Sehun's, why—

Sehun pulled out and flipped him over so Jongin could finally look into his face, and Jongin saw there that he was pained too. "Jonginnie," he said softly, and at that name, a real tear did slip from Jongin's eye. Sehun's voice was so tender and full of unconditional love that everything he'd just been questioning fell away, inconsequential.

Sehun slung Jongin's legs over his shoulders and moved up so that Jongin could feel his breath once more, and the proximity set fire to Jongin's entire body. "Jonginnie, that's not what you want," he cooed. "That's what you were looking for but that's not what you want." Sehun pushed just the head into Jongin, one hand on Jongin's hip and one caressing his hair. His eyes shined dark and lusting and loving. " _I know you, nini._ " Sehun rolled into him fluidly now, body rolls begining in his torso and ending in his hips. 

Jongin whined, throwing his head back, his hands flitting over Sehun's back to bury themselves in his soft hair. This was so much more  _sensational_ , so overwhelming, and Sehun sealed the deal by finally pressing hungry lips to his, mouth open, tongue dancing. Jongin kissed him and never wanted to stop, and he swore oath after oath to himself that he'd never let these lips or their owner go until coherence left the range of his mind's abilities and he was lost in their tangle of legs and heat and skin.

* * *

Some time later, Jongin sat against the headboard on his side of the bed—the left side—with a big glass of brandy. Sehun came back from the kitchen, his sweatpants back on, looking triumphant with a full bottle in his hand. When he saw Jongin's raised eyebrow, he raised one of his own in challenge, and Jongin  backed down. 

"What did Soojung say?"

"Oh, she was mad that she only heard the begining and then we were  _talking in our sex raspy voices_ so she couldn't hear. Until, you know." Sehun grinned and Jongin was compelled to smile back. Sehun's smile was uniquely beautiful: his eyes turned into graceful half-moons and his scar scrunched a little and was pulled a little back from his face. It made him look like the sun. 

"Our sex raspy voices, pff." Jongin chuckled. "I will give you one thing, though. The power of sex position is not a myth." This got Sehun to smile and laugh some more and Jongin decided to forget about Soo Man's proposition, at least for today, and apply himself to the singularly rewarding art of getting Sehun to smile.

* * *

seahorse's note: my mind  _invented_ the gutter. also whoever gets the reference to french lilac gets a gold star.


	11. Need More

Jongin woke with the dry feeling in his mouth that told him it wasn't time to wake up yet, that it was still the dead hours of the early morning. A hand was shaking his shoulder, a warm leg thrown across his body. " _Jonginnie_."

Sehun's face was close enough to kiss, moonlight bouncing off the planes of his cheekbones. There was a high flush on his cheeks even though it was perfectly cool in bed and his hair was worried more than it was when Jongin took it in hand while Sehun's mouth was working on his cock."What's up, baby?" His voice was scratchy with sleep, a mere low rumble in that bedroom of moonlight and soft white fabric.

Sehun's hand was still rubbing up and down his arm, and then Sehun pressed closer to him, burying his face in Jongin's neck for a moment.  _Ah._ Jongin felt Sehun's length pressing against his leg, felt the tone of the way Sehun clutched at him. "Need more, nini," Sehun whimpered, embarrassed, finicky eyes flitting up to meet Jongin's for a moment. A joke about addiction to something appeared on Jongin's lips but promptly evaporated.

Instead, Jongin raised a hand to Sehun's jaw and he stroked it lightly with his thumb, Sehun closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. "Oh, sweetheart." Jongin's voice was soft and supple as he brought Sehun the extra centimeter forward so their lips met. It was sweet at first but soon Sehun was pressing for more, his body squirming in the bed. 

Jongin moaned casually into Sehun's mouth, not entirely free from the grips of sleep but enjoying Sehun's mouth; his favorite mouth. But Sehun was needy, and he needed more. His leg moved so he was completely straddling Jongin and their cocks rubbed together. It still wasn't enough, and Sehun made a frustrated sound in the middle of making a hickey on Jongin's neck; Jongin had long since given up making Sehun mark him where it couldn't be seen. They never put on airs anyway.

Sehun's hand moved below the waistline of Jongin's pajamas and woke Jongin a little more as he passed a thumb breezily over the head. Then he pulled down Jongin's pants and his mouth was enveloping him, a nod to the way Jongin liked to move when he was leading: slow then fast then slow. "Come on nini, please," he whined, emboldened by the hour of night, his mouth hovering a breath from Jongin's cock so that when it twitched he kissed it.

Jongin pushed himself up so Sehun's face was pressed to his dick, then brought Sehun up by the tip of his chin so Sehun could properly look at him. "What do you want, baby? What do you need?" Their chests were rising and falling heavily now, breath heating the night air around them. Jongin could faintly hear cicadas outside, and a siren far in the distance.

Sehun got off his lap, tugging his shorts down and moving to his side of the bed so he could put his head on his pillow, sticking his ass high in the air, hiding his face. Jongin let out a reverent breath; this felt like a dream. Rarely was it Sehun waking him in the middle of the night because of his needs. He didn't want to pause to think about what it meant; whatever it was, it had something to do with passion. 

Jongin rose to his knees, a hand caressing Sehun's ass. It glowed softly in the light. He worried Sehun wouldn't enjoy him just  _staring_ at it, but he couldn't help himself. When his fingers approached Sehun's hole Sehun just pushed his ass back more, and Jongin realized that there was no prep needed—Sehun's hole was clenching with need.

" _Fuck._ " He clenched his jaw, certainly awake now, pressing a finger into it. Sehun whined again, his knuckles white as they fisted in his pillow.

"Fuck me, nini, nini,  _please_ ," Sehun begged, his legs widening, inviting Jongin between them. Jongin was naught to deny him, and Sehun let loose a shuddering sigh when he pressed into his clenching heat. "Yes, yes Jonginnie, like that, like  _that_ ," he chanted, almost like a prayer. Jongin took a handful of ass in both hands and spread Sehun's cheeks, pressing in all the way and then rolling his hips the way he knew drove Sehun crazy. 

"You goddamn siren," he whispered, leaning over Sehun's back and thrusting with precise rolls of his hips, enjoying the heated wetness from his own precome and Sehun's preparation. Something broke, something he'd been contemplating in his mind perhaps without even knowing it, and he foggily wondered if Sehun had planned this, this last nail in his coffin. If he'd been whipped before, he had no idea what  _this_ was, but this was more.

Sehun came quickly, riled up already, whining Jongin's name, moaning as he touched himself and Jongin swept into him, the sound of skin on skin accompanying him. When Jongin came after him, he barely had the energy to wipe them off a little bit and roll back to his side of the bed, smiling when Sehun raised his arm and brought it around himself so they lay tangled together.

They must have told each other _I love you_  before they went to sleep, but Jongin couldn't be sure, because he often dreamed of loving Sehun, anyway.

* * *

"Why do we have to wait for Soojung? What aren't you telling me?" Sehun's pinky tapped nervously against his mug of coffee as he squinted against the sun, trying to finagle a straight answer from the tanned god reclining across from him.

"I like her," Jongin answered, his eyes scanning the doorway of the hotel room. "This concerns her. Look, here she is. I told you we wouldn't have to wait long."

Sehun made an annoyed sound in the back of his mouth but waved at Soojung as she let herself into the room, her eyes as careful as they might be if she was entering a cage of tigers. It was a sensible enough approach; she'd been the one to witness Sehun's red-rimmed eyes and record-setting alcohol consumption after he'd caught Jongin outside their hotel room. She'd calmly talked him down and convinced him to bring Jongin back in, and then, somehow, she'd slipped out before he could talk to her again. 

Today she wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, matching Sehun exactly except in color of denim, and Jongin too, except Jongin's t-shirt was black. "Hey." Her voice, too, was careful as she placed a tentative hand on Sehun's shoulder. Sehun moved his hand to her ass, smiling up at her. It was really good to see her; her eyes seemed to know him. He wondered if Jongin felt the same. 

"Hey, Soojung. Jongin has something very important to tell us and he wouldn't tell me without you, and it's all very mysterious." He knew he wasn't answering the question in her eyes, not directly, but the ease with which he treated both her and Jongin, he hoped, would be enough of a message.  _Everything is fine._

"Well, now that you're here. See, I'm used to being able to just—just disappearing into thin air whenever shit gets really tough. I've never been seduced like  _this one_ has done to me before. Nor will I ever, I suspect." Jongin winked at Sehun and Sehun couldn't help blushing. "I got an offer to go on tour with a guy named Lee Soo Man. Soojung, I don't know if you've heard of him, but—"

"I've heard of him," Soojung interrupted. "He managed my sister, back in the day. Burned her right the fuck out. She used to be into horses, horse racing, stuff like that. They used to fix races."

"I didn't know you had a sister," Sehun said, suprised. It was something he felt he should have known. "We're not normally associated," Soojung replied, smiling. "But she's great. You guys should meet her sometime." She smiled, squinting in the sunlight, and went to sit down on Jongin's lap, since there were only two chairs. Sehun was struck by how well they fit together as a couple. It as pretty. Aesthetic.

"What does she do now?" Sehun asked, curious.

"Oh, she manages a ncie breeding farm out in Kentucky. She seems happy." Soojung shrugged. "She's got a husband and everything. Incredibly domestic."

"Somehow, I don't see you following in your sister's footsteps," Jongin drawled, smirking.

Soojung looked back at him. "Oh, I don't know. I've always wanted a dog." She was teasing him and he knew it; Jongin  _always_ talked about wanting a dog. 

" _Anyways,_ " Jongin said, rolling his eyes, "Soo Man wants to take me on tour. And I know that you two are pretty good at what you do anyway, and I can't promise you much action, not card-playing action anyway, but I want to take you guys with me. It's suddenly true that I'm not  _me_ without you." He was speaking to both of them, but Jongin's eyes bored into Sehun's. Sehun's breath caught and his ass ached, reminding him of last night. No, he didn't want to leave Jongin either. Or let Jongin leave. In fact, he was finding out that he was willing to do a lot to keep the golden man sitting before him. He was willing to fight tooth and nail for him.

"You want to take us on tour with  _Lee Soo Man_?" Soojung was incredulous. "Do you know how fucking rich he can make us? You don't even have to be good, which I know you are, Jongin, but you don't even have to be! He can get you into—" 

"I know," Jongin interrupted, and he looked like he was trying not to smile. "But it's different. Neither of you have really expierenced a pool boss before. We won't have the freedom we have now. I take the matches he gives me, the free time he gives me, the money he gives me, and that's it. It's gonna be a lot of hotel rooms."

"Don't we have a say in whether you do this or not?" Sehun interjected quietly. Then, against what everything in his body was telling him, he added, "And isn't Soo Man Shortie's boss too?"

Jongin looked at him hard for a momen before glancing up at Soojung and then back. "Yeah, Soo Man is Kyungsoo's boss too. But we won't see him everywhere. Soo Man keeps a fairly loose reign on him. Shortie's usually just in Chicago, anyway. That's his turf. He's..." Jongin seemed like he was calling to mind a very specific image, and it made Sehun squirm. "...Domestic."

Sehun's mind went to the whiskey in his mug, and he felt a stab of fearful jealousy shoot through him. He was far from domestic. He was a scarred drunkard with daddy  _and_ mommy issues who was probably also really clingy on the side. Kyungsoo...  _domestic_ Kyungsoo was put-together and clean and even wore glasses sometimes.

"What if I say I don't want you to go?" He asked quietly. 

Soojung was looking between them, and then she got off Jongin's lap, sighing. "Look, I'm down. I like playing but I think the politics would be interesting and I was never good enough at the playing of cards itself to get anywhere as far as you're getting, nini. I'll let you two talk." 

Jongin gave her a small, tense smile and squeezed her hand; she squeezed back. Sehun was proud at their relationship—how it had gone from Jongin's low  _she's hot_  one night to a genuine respect to what seemed oddly, now, like a sweet, close friendship. He winked at Soojung on her way out, and she stuck her tongue out at him. Good. They were still on friendly terms too. He'd worried their romp in the bedroom a few nights ago might have thrown her off. He should have known better.

"Come here." Sehun looked back to Jongin, who was beckoning him with two fingers. Sehun rose as if compelled by somethign outside his will. Jongin patted his thigh where Soojung had just been sitting and Sehun happily took the seat, his ego perking up when he felt Jongin's thigh muscle tense under him. "Your ass is so comfy," Jongin whispered in his ear. He sounded cheery.

Sehun's hand automatically went to the nape of Jongin's neck, stroking the hair there as Jongin sighed. "Do you really not want me to go, love? It could be a ride. We could see so much action. Not to mention the dickwad keeps calling me a loser and I just want to prove him wrong."

"Well..." Sehun chose his words carefully. "Well, first, I was wondering what you intended to do about... Kyungsoo. I remember that guy... Junmyeon. You told him you wanted to play Kyungsoo again. You got pretty riled up, hon."

"Yeah, I'll play him again." Jongin's jaw clenched in determination. "Just think how good I"ll be after I work with Soo Man for a few months. No way could he beat me!"

"Okay." Sehun digested the information, his mind strangely calm and systematic. Next question. "If I told you I still don't want to go, that I don't want  _you_ to go, would you still go, without me? Because," he added hurriedly, "I know you like to move around a lot, and you've been hanging out with me for almost nine months... that's, like, as long as it takes to make a person," he finished lamely.

His stomach sank when it looked like Jongin was genuinley considering it. There was a dangerous, posessive glint to his eyes, and the way his hand rested on Sehun's thigh. "I wouldn't go without you," Jongin said finally. That, at least, Sehun could tell was not a lie. He knew what Jongin looked like when he was determined.

So it was decided that Jongin would meet with Soo Man that afternoon and try to convince him that he was good enough to support bringing two plus-ones on the whole rigamarole, which Jongin recounted later to him was no easy feat. He traded a deal of 60% to him and 40% to Soo Man with a 50/50 deal just to ensure he could bring both Soojung and Sehun.

Sehun assumed they would celebrate in their hotel room; he ordered chilled glasses of champagne and got just as tipsy as he pleased, belting his lungs out to obnoxious music with Soojung. When Jongin was decidedly late, he assumed Jongin had gotten absorbed at the pool table like he sometimes did, so he stumbled into an elevator and went to the lobby, which led to the bar which led to the pool rooms in back, adjacent to the card rooms. 

His progress was stopped short at the bar, though, and he swayed a little, the many lights shining too brightly off people's jewlery and the shiny wax on the bar and the glass bottles on display. The music was too loud and symbols seemed like an idiotic instrument to use to make something that was supposed to sound good.

Jongin and Kyungsoo sat next to each other at the bar, both looking like they'd had more than a few drinks,. They were leaning a little too close together, and Jongin's eyes were even doing that thing where they twinkled amidst two cute litle half-moons. Their knees bumped and somehow Sehun heard it like a crash inside his mind. 

He threw his glass to the ground right then and there, frustrated and tired of stressing about  _was he_ or  _were they_. Everything went quiet except those symbols kept crashing to the music and they made Sehun's foggy mind wince. Everyone was staring at him, but what mattered was that  _Jongin_  was staring at him, his eyes wide. Now Jongin was getting  up, now he was coming towards him.

Sehun shook his head. "That's _it!_ " He screeched right into Jongin's face. "I'm not coming with you on your shtupid crushade to earn bucktons of money cuz you're selfish and you think I'm just a—just a—a scarred fool!" He was slurring his words a little, but he was sure that a feeling this emphatic, this malignant, would persist even when he had a headache tomorrow. He was disgusted, and he was  _done_. 

He could always get more money from his family, could always get a different apartment in a different city and start over. Maybe New York next. He wondered if Soojung would come with him or Jongin. He liked to imagine she'd come with him, since they were such close friends. "And Soojung is siding with me!" he roared, his mouth filterless. Jongin looked like he was trying to say something but the words weren't making it to Sehun's ears or his mind.

Jongin kept cooing to him in the elevator and he kept screaming, screeching at Jongin, blaming him for everything, for how much he had to drink go go to sleep, for all his insecurities, for the way people looked at him when they saw his scar. When they got to the room Jongin made to lead Sehun, but Sehun shoved him against the wall, saying someting about  _this is where your whore shortie wanted to fuck you, right?_  and then slamming it in Jongin's face.

He was  _not_ going on the road with Soo Man. The man, quite honestly, sounded like an evil, money-driven slave driver.

He was  _not_ getting in a car tomorrow. He was _not_ going on the road with Soo Man.

He'd never been more sure of something in his life.

Except for one thing. He was sure he loved Kim Jongin.

* * *

seahorse's note: comment as always! upvote me and my dirty mind! I'm not even squirmy anymore, I'm unabashed, I just write the shit I want to. Oh well. It's so late right now. I'm almost as cloudy-minded as our friend Sehun here.


	12. Where Are We Going? (Not a Metaphor)

Sehun woke to movement and a clouded mind. Not the sort of nebulous static he was used to, something a pinch more sinister. And he was moving, rapidly—not in someone's arms, not sliding off something, but barreling down a highway. 

Despite his heartbeat picking up as soon as he woke, it took a few seconds for his eyelids to open and his eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight. He swore.

Jongin looked over at him from behind the wheel. "You're awake," he said, his voice a studied neutrality. Sehun swallowed, his throat dry and his tongue dead in his mouth. He was crumpled against the leather seat of a car he'd never seen in his life.

"Where am I? What happened? Where are we going?" The questions came logically, of their own accord. This had never happened to him before, and he liked to think a lot had happened. When he got nervous like this, his scar burned like a receptacle for Sehun's nerves.

"Just a hop skip and jump away, to Baltimore." Jongin's hands were clutching the wheel tightly, but his voice was light and carefully casual.

"Jongin, don't you tell me we're going with Soo Man. Don't think I don't remember at least a little bit of last night." Sehun felt petulant, because all he could do in this situation was slouch against the seat and sulk. He couldn't very well jump out of a moving car, and besides, Jongin was here. He was mad, but, well—love above everything, right?

Jongin was quiet and Sehun worried it was Jongin's form of a yes. That they were going with Soo Man. But why couldn't he remember how he got here? He couldn't even remember walking to the car.

"What happened? Did you give me something?"

"You have to come with me, baby. I can't jack shit without you around anymore. I know you wouldn't want to leave me either. It's presumptious, but look, lovers have to be presumptuous, right? Sehunnie, tell me I made the right decision. Tell me."

Sehun recoiled when Jongin took a hesitant hand off the wheel and moved it toward him. Jongin got the message, jaw clenching, and returned it to its place. "You  _drugged_  me like a  _slut_  you were about to  _rape_ ," Sehun sneered, disgust welling up in his stomach. "I can tolerate a lot, Jongin, but I expect at least some bare fucking modicum of  _respect_. I told you clearly that I didn't want to go."

The words fell on Jongin like heavy slaps, and he flinched at every word and the metallic tone of Sehun's sleep-laden voice. Seun looked around the car a little more. There was a figure curled up in one of the back seats, and Sehun recognized the distressed denim jeans as Soojung's. But Jongin had probably just told her he drank too much—anyone who knew him would believe that. It was a very nice car, the green, rolling scenery around them tinted by darkened windows. 

"We're even in his car," he said, not really at Jongin but more to himself. He wondered, in that out of body sort of introspection, how he had gotten here. A year ago he'd shown up to orientation sure he was going to make something of himself: he'd get a job somewhere, and charm someone or other into getting him a better one, and a better one. And eventually he'd be able to look down on his parents and their society and their careful language. He'd get over the scar, and stop hiding it from everyone he met.

Now he was stuck in the very fancy car of a very shady man, with a different shady man, who he loved and who said he loved Sehun, but who had drugged him and taken him somewhere against his will.

Jongin was speaking, and Sehun grudgingly paid attention, hating the way Jongin's honeyed voice slid into his heart. "Look, if you really think that low of me at this point, you can fly back to Chicago when we get to Baltimore. But I really think you'll like Baltimore, Sehunnie, it's got a bay like Chicago, but it's so much warmer. They have the coolest aquarium there. We can go on a date, maybe. It's been a while since we had a real one of those."

"Bullshit, you two eat dinner together all the time." Soojung was awake, an unplesant grimace on her face like waking up was the greatest inconvience she'd ever suffered.

"Yeah, but I mean like... like a  _date_ date. I wanna buy him ice cream and lick it off his nose." Jongin seemed suprised to be admitting this, like it had been previously unknown even to him. Soojung giggled.

"I don't think boss man would be super down with that," she replied, a smile still in her voice. "Boss man's gonna work you to the bone the first couplea weeks, just to see what you're made of."

"Did I tell you guys he called me a loser? Straight to my face. Said I wanted to lose. Said I enjoyed making up excuses. I don't have to make excuses." Jongin seemed genuinely puzzled. "I always win anyway."

 _Not to Shortie. _Sehun kept the words to himself, well aware that this was probably Soo Man's car and there was probably another car that carried both Soo Man and Shortie. "Well, you'll have a hard enough time trying to get him to take us at all. When my sister was with him he didn't let her have a boyfriend, or friends, for that matter. She was totally alone."

"Yeah." Jongin chewed on his lip, moving the car around a big obnoxious truck. "About that. I wasn't really... I didn't really  _tell_ Soo Man I was taking you. But I figured we were all used to staying in the same room anyways."

There was silence in the car for a minute, and then, "Are you serious, Jongin? You're an idiot." That was Soojung. Sehun just sat slumped against the seat, silently fuming. It was ironic, Jongin's tenacity; Sehun didn't want to go and Soo Man didn't want him to come, but Jongin took him anyway. 

"I'm flying back to Chicago when we get there," he said quietly—so quietly that he wondered if Jongin heard him, but his eyes snapped to Sehun's rapidly and then back to the road. In just that one glance Sehun saw bare, sharp terror. 

"Just give me a few days. Remember in DC? In the beginning? That was nice. We can make it be nice again." 

"We drink too much for it to be nice." Sehun's voice was still quiet, but it was the truest thing he'd ever said.

"I don't." Soojung put a small hand on his shoulder. "Just stay for me, Sehun. You won't be able to really talk to Jongin anyway, he'll be working all the time." She was leaning forward, and her perfume seeped into his pores, calming him down. "We can go on dates. We can go to the aquarium. We can walk on the boardwalk and get ice cream."

Anyone else might have though she was just being nice, but what she was really doing made Sehun a thousand times more grateful. First of all, she was declaring clearly that she was on  _his_ side while simultaneously keeping the peace in the small car, for Jongin was clearly as tense as he'd ever been, and even if he didn't show it, he was questioning himself.

Second of all, she was slighting Jongin, a giant blow to his ego. Stealing his fantasy so that whenever he imagined it, now it would be Sehun and Soojung. Jongin's jaw was working still, but he stayed silent. Sehun put a tired hand on Soojung's looking at her with what he hoped showed his gratitude. When he saw a mischievous spark in her eyes, somehow he already knew what it was.

She leaned down and kissed him, right in front of Jongin. The car jerked a little and Soojung fell back in her seat, but they stayed going straight. One of Jongin's hands was on the wheel and looked like it had been destined for Sehun's thigh before Jongin remembered himself.

They arrived in Baltimore a tense bundle of nerves, Jongin shortly instructing them to wait in the lobby while he conferred with Soo Man. Sehun led Soojung back to the bar and ordered a drink. Soojung watched him take a big gulp with worried eyes. "Sehun, he really just wants you along because he loves you. You know that, don't you? He wants to give you the world. He saw how you lived—well, it sounded like it wasn't the nicest place—"

"It was the  _nicest_ place," cut in Sehun viciously, suprised that tears were pricking at his eyes. Now that they were out of that car, now that the drug had completely filtered out of his system, and he felt like himself again, it all threatened to break through. He could remember their endlessly comfortable bed, the sheets they just laid on top of it because they always had to wash them anyway, the windowsill that made Jongin's skin glow _just so_ , the little chest where they kept the cigarettes and lighters and condoms. 

"It was the  _nicest_ ," Sehun repeated, meeting Soojung's eyes. "We fell in love there."

Soojung sighed. "Well,  _I_ think it's romantic. I think he's the biggest romantic. Would you like to know what he said to me? He said that even though he was so in love with you he couldn't think straight, he wanted me to come along because I was too perfect for anyone else to have. He has that way with words. Except when he's tongue-tied around you."

She took a sip of his drink and he watched in fascination. He'd never seen her gulp before, just sip primly. He'd only seen her drunk a handful of times.

"He's a hustler," Sehun said sadly, watching the crimson drink disappear. "He's got us whipped. But I—Soojung, I'll stay, because I want to see Baltimore, I do, and I want to see it with _you,_  but..."

"But then you're going home," she finished. The rest was implied.  _If Jongin comes, he comes, if he doesn't, he doesn't._ She smiled, or tried to, at least. "Well, I've only seen Chicago in passing. I'd like to get to know it a little better, anyway."

* * *

Jongin stumbled into the apartment room at four in the morning, deep purple circles dragging his face down from his eyes. His hair looked damp and he was puffing furiously on a cigarette. He woke Sehun carelessly, shoving his shoulder and wrapping his arms around Sehun's waist like he could make himself disappear in the other boy. 

Sehun was already halfway wound around him before he remembered himself and drew away, rubbing his eyes. The sun wasn't even rising yet. "Did you just get back?" He asked, wonderment in his voice.

"Yeah," Jongin replied. "Soo Man's testing me. Did you have a good night?"

He was making an effort, but the exhaustion seeping from his pores made it clear that he was moments away from passing out. Soojung was stirring from her place on the other side of Sehun and she blinked at Jongin a few times, registering his state of disrepair. 

"I'll get you a bath," she muttered. Then, under her breath, " _I warned you._ " 

Sehun fell back against the pillow, wanting to return to the kind, soft, cigar-puffing Jongin, the leonine Jongin of his dreams who sparkled golden and was never mean to him. He was grateful that Soojung was guiding Jongin up from the bed, putting out his cigarette, and then he heard her faintly cooing at him to undress so she could get him in the bath.

* * *

Jongin slept straight through the morning, rising, presumably, because he was too hungry to sleep much more. They ordered room service and stayed in the room. Sehun hadn't been out yet. There was a musty, caged feeling stirring between the three of them, an uncomfortable tension that Sehun almost didn't recognize, because here were the two people he'd always—well, not always, but  _ever—_ the two people he'd ever been most comfortable with. 

When Jongin did wake up, he was sullen and pouty. It was almost certainly because Sehun sat primly across the hotel room's little table from him, his eyes glittering. Not touching. Sehun had not forgiven him. In fact, he felt liable to explode again at any moment, even more so because of the defeat he saw in the set of Jongin's shoulders, the deferring gaze he received from him; the exhaustion. 

Soojung truly had the mind of a first-rate politician, although her craft was more in what she did not say, and in the looks she gave, and the bluntness to what she said. They were carefully chosen words all the same. "So what's he like?" Soojung asked. Everybody had avoided talking about it, but now Jongin was about to get up, and he looked like he was preparing for a battle.

"He's..." Jongin stared at his empty plate. "Hard. He's cold. He certainly knows how to make money."

"And?" Jongin had stopped there, but Sehun couldn't help himself. He hadn't seen Soo Man once, but he already felt like he was waging some kind of war against the man, against the part of Jongin that he was taking and twisting. It wasn't jealousy, it wasn't territorial, but it was... distinctly threatening. Like knowing someone you cared very much about had a secret best friend, or sometimes had a side that made it impossible to know them completely. And that secret presence had no face.

"And... he doesn't give out compliments." Jongin's eyelashes cast faint shadows across the already shadowed skin beneath his eyes. "I'm not overconfident, you both know that."

"You're perfectly worthy of compliments, now and then." Soojung was frowning. "It feels more like he's trying to break your spirit than help you."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Jongin replied with a small twitch of the mouth.  _He's become so pessimistic_ , Sehun thought. Maybe he was better off sleeping in the subway. But of course, the three of them shared that capitalist trait of always needing to grasp for more, to fight against the current in the little rowboats of their abilities, fighting for an inch and a foot. 

"Whoever made up that phrase," said Soojung quietly, "Never met Lee Soo Man."

With Soojung's words hanging in the air, the three of them rose and went about preparing for the night. Jongin put on one of his two suits—Sehun's favorite, a simple black one perfectly tailored to accentuate Jongin's perfect proportions—and Sehun and Soojung prepared for the night out they had planned. Soojung hadn't been joking when she promised to take him on a date.

Jongin pulled Soojung aside while Sehun was changing his pants, and he heard a murmuring in the other room, too low to be heard. But they both emerged seeming much the same, so Sehun let it go. Jongin left first, after an awkward, wistful little wave and reach of his hand towards them. Sehun closed the door behind him and Soojung and Soojung took his arm like she sometimes did—she said it made her feel like a proper lady.

Sehun didn't hold back, "You have more class than all the women in the world put together. I don't know how on earth you ended up with us. You should be on a yacht somewhere, sipping champagne and talking about horses." Then he realized what he'd just said, and blushed. Soojung surely knew exactly how to talk about horses; her sister worked with them. 

Soojung just giggled and kissed him with a breezy brush of lips on his cheek. "I'll take you riding sometime," she said, a smile twinkling in her voice.  They went out to eat on the harbor, the cool breeze blowing through Sehun like he wasn't even there. Soojung had to put her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. 

"You are aware that girls pay good money to get buns that look like that and they  _still_  don't look like that," Sehun drawled. She winked at him, but it didn't seem like she really wanted to talk that much. Sehun understood; they both knew they were in the middle of a quiet flurry of upheaval in all their lives, and any lull was welcome. Sehun let the breeze massage the tension from his shoulders, and decided to enjoy the sunset, and the quiet murmur of normal people's voices around him. At least now he wasn't ashamed of his scar. 

He no longer wore a hood. 

* * *

Two nights later, the three of them had settled into a quiet routine centered around keeping Jongin healthy and not too incredible depressed when there was no cue in his hands. Sehun still kept his distance, but where he couldn't, Soojung nestled herself next to his body, giving him her heat and her comfort, and Sehun was grateful. He felt his resolve slowly weakening, and he knew that soon, when Jongin reached for him, he wouldn't step back. He caught Jongin staring at him sometimes, while Soojung was asleep, or when they were all quietly on the computer, or watching a movie. A stare of wanting back something you took for granted. Self-loathing longing. 

They didn't get very much time together, though. Sehun was kept completely out of sight of the faceless Soo Man, as was Soojung. Jongin said Soo Man certainly thought it was strange he never invited him up to his room, but he didn't ask too many questions. Yet. He superciliously assumed that Jongin was alone, and telling the truth, for the sake of the rolls of twenty-dollar bills he deposited in the safe every night (or morning) when he leaned his weight into the door, as if opening it were a chore he'd rather not exert himself doing.

So when Sehun and Soojung came home early that night, they expected the apartment to be empty. Instead, they were met with a middle-aged man with an admirably small belly, hair peppered grey and giant glasses clearly necessary, distorting his eyes to make them look smaller than they probably really were.

He seemed just as shocked as they were to find someone else in the room, whirling as quickly as he could and tugging uncomfortably on his vest. "Hello," he said uncertainly, his voice some combination of slippery and boringly monotone. "Who might you be?"

There was no good answer. Soojung and Sehun, with their political minds, were trapped; they had entered the room with a keycard, which meant they knew Jongin  _somehow_. They couldn't say they were strangers, nor could they imply they were one-night stands. 

Then Soo Man saw Soojung, and his eyes widened a fraction. "Jung Soojung?" He asked, his voice incredulous. "The last time I saw you you were three years younger and clutching descreetly at your mother's skirts." 

"Mr. Soo Man," Soojung replied, her voice cool and her eyes even cooler. "The last time I saw you was walking off the racetrack after putting a bullet in my sister's horse's head."

And Sehun understood the quiet contempt Soojung always said his name with, and the protective ways she treated Jongin, like she believed someone was torturing him whenever she couldn't see him. Soo Man shrugged at her and turned his eyes to scan Sehun. "I don't believe we've met," he said, his voice steady.

"Oh Sehun," Sehun shook Soo Man's head, his voice as steady as Soojung's. A gift of playing so much poker. 

"And how do the two of you know Jongin?" Soo Man asked, like he was trying to make it sound casual.

"Oh, it's quite an interesting—" Soojung began, but the door opened at that moment, and Jongin walked in with the manner of someone expecting to be alone in the room they were entering. When he saw the trio within, he stopped shirt, his eyes bugging out and his mouth falling open.

"Sir, I thought you were just going to wait for me down there," he said, his voice unsteady. He slid a glance to Sehun and Soojung, who regarded him with equally cool eyes of seasoned poker players.

"How do you know Ms. Jung and Mr. Oh?" Soo Man asked, his hands disappearing into his pockets. He looked severe in the soft hotel light.

There was a long moment of hesitation as Jongin weighed his options. Soojung and Sehun gave nothing away when he looked at them; they had no idea what to do either, and it was Jongin's decision either way. It was his endeavor on the whole.

"They came with me. They stay here," he replied, lifting his chin, his voice a challenge. It gave away too much, because there were only two beds, guaranteeing that two slept in one of the beds, whatever combination it was. Indeed, Soo Man did not know that depending on the time it could have been  _any_ combination.

Soo Man ingested the information. "I thought I told you to come alone." His voice was severe just like he looked, but also, maddeningly, calm. "Jongin, for this to work, you have to be alone."  _They can't be here. They go, or I do._  The message was clear.

"I don't see why, sir. They're not impeding me."

"You may not think so." Soo Man whirled on Sehun. "How many drinks have you had today, Mr. Oh?"

Sehun's mouth fell open, unready for the question. His mind scattered, trying to count up all the drinks he'd had from when he woke up, but he never did count, and by the time he realized it would be prudent to lie, it was too late. Soo Man turned back to Jongin with a small triumphant smile. 

"Bad influences. Distractions. You'd as soon stay curled up in bed rather than face a real opponent, a real challenge." It was a sneer. Jongin bristled. 

"I won't play as well with them gone."

"You could play half as well as you do and still beat everyone in the damn world," Soo Man replied breezily. "That isn't the point. The point is discipline. The point is having total control of the room. That's how you go home with the money in your pocket at the end of the day. May I speak to you alone?"

Jongin grit his teeth. Sehun reveled. It was beautiful, and he felt the last dregs of resentment float away at the sight of Jongin's defiant eyes. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to them."

Soo Man digested this, then replied, "Well, I suppose it concerns them as well. They need to leave. And when I say leave, I mean the city."

Jongin's mouth fell open and Sehun jerked. Soojung was the only one unsuprised with the hubris, her stance collected and straight-backed. "No." Jongin clenched his jaw.

"Jongin, you know as well as I do they would have had to go eventually. I am merely doing this in the interest of expediency."

There was a silence. Nobody budged.

"I'll leave you all to discuss it, I suppose. But Jongin, I do expect you back downstairs. Don't take too long." Soo Man tugged on his jacket again and made his way out, not bothering to close the door behind him.

The moment Soo Man was out of sight, Jongin deflated, shoving a hand through his hair. "I'll play especially well tonight, and he'll let you stay," Jongin said firmly, with an admirably fervent, hopeful tone. Sehun said nothing. 

Soojung sighed. "We'll talk about this when you get back. If it gets too bad, we can always get a hotel across the city. But you'll move on to Atlanta tomorrow anyway, and if we travel separately, he won't think you disobeyed him. Go," she said, shooing him. "It was your choice  to join him in the first place."

Jongin shot a pleading, and—yes, he looked terrified—look at Sehun, but Sehun's mouth was pressed into a hard, unforgiving line. They'd talk when he got back.

Maybe, finally, they'd do more than talk. But Sehun didn't promise himself anything.

* * *

seahorse's note: TENSION TENSION TENSION and wHO caught my rambling gatsbyness in this chapter? Anyway, sorry it wasn't very interesting, but I can be boring sometimes, too. I promise to make the next chapter extra exciting to make up for it. hehe. 

subscribe. COMMENT. Thank youu


	13. The Merits of Self-Interest

He'd been out on a walk. It wasn't the most interesting place to stroll, or, probably, the most safe, but Sehun needed to move. His mother always used to coo at him that being a physical person was his best attribute. He had broad shoulders and he was tall and when he ran, he ran fast—couldn't he see how it didn't make sense for him to like boys? _Look at all the pretty girls falling over themselves for you._

Although it was tempting, Sehun never did get out of the habit of moving until he moved to Chicago, where he could watch the constant stream of life below his window, where all he had to do was walk down the street to the liquor store and back. 

The hotel room, when he got back, was dim, only a few lamps casting pools of yellow light on the bed. Coming from the outside, where he could hear water, wind, people, cars, sirens, dogs, and more, the still apartment at first seemed perfectly quiet. It was late enough at night that Soojung had probably just gone to bed and Jongin... Sehun had stopped trying to predict when Jongin would come back. Every time he did, Jongin came back later. With more money in his pockets.

Then he heard the telltale rustle of clothing on clothing, and figured Soojung was moving around, or maybe Jongin was changing.. And then he saw the in a corner, pressed against the wall—both of them. 

He watched them intently for a few moments, his tired brain taking its time deciding what to do. He was  _tired_ of this, tired of being jealous. The truth was he was confident about how Jongin felt about him, and it was just a question, now, of respect. 

It was all rather funny. Sehun chuckled, but neither Soojung nor Jongin heard him. It was funny because he'd pulled the old wives trick without realizing it, denying Jogin sex—hell, denying Jongin  _contact—_ for a couple of days straight. And he knew Jongin to be a very physical person. He was touchy and needed the warmth of a person who wasn't himself. 

He chuckled a little louder, dropping his phone on the entrance table and striding into the hotel room. When they finally heard him, Jongin sprang away from Soojung, his head whipping around, his eyes wide. When he was suprised, his mouth always popped a little open, a little like they did when he was turned on. 

"Sehun!" Jongin seemed like he was about to continue, but then found he couldn't. Good thing Sehun already know why he did what he did. 

"Can I borrow Soojung for a sec, nini?" He asked. His voice sounded casual and cheery. He was surely giving Jongin the fright of his life, because every time Sehun saw him with Kyungsoo there was shouting and drugging and long falling-out to follow. 

Soojung passed her hand over her mouth and smoothed down her hair, sliding past Jongin and breezing past Sehun into the hallway. Sehun followed her and shut the door. 

"Congrats," he said, and he meant it. When he and Soojung used to stay up late whispering under the covers like they were twenty years younger, Soojung had made it clear how she felt about Jongin. And Sehun had promised her that she was free to make whatever advances on him she wanted, and fuck him if she could—because he saw the need he felt himself when he looked at Jongin reflected in her eyes.

"Thanks," she replied, and a small smile tugged at her lips. "He's an amazing kisser. You should have told me."

Sehun grinned. "No use in telling you what you could more accurately find out on your own." He felt a strange melancholy at this conversation, like he was bidding goodbye to something intangibly sweet and innocent. But his mind was made up; had been made up just like that, and tied in a bow, like he'd had the decision sitting there in his brain the whole time.

Soojung laughed. "How was the walk?"

"I'm going to leave tomorrow. There's a flight out at ten in the morning to Chicago."

Soojung's smile died. She took a moment to transition, but then she seemed to accept what he said and roll along with the conversation. He'd always loved that about her, her fluidity. It pervaded everything she did. "I don't suppose you want to take me with you."

Sehun watched her face closely, but she gave very little away. "I don't suppose you want to come." His voice was hushed, but in it were all the allowances and all the forgiveness she needed to say she wanted to stay.

Soojung's chin wobbled. "I.. don't know. I haven't been—I haven't been letting myself consider the possibility of you two splitting up. I...I hope it wasn't me."

"Of course not," Sehun said emphatically. "This is between me and him. We've been going different directions, and I—"

"That's not true, Sehun, and you know it. You know he wants you more than ever. I could feel it humming in his body. He can't look at anyone else when you're in the room."

"Still." Sehun lowered his eyes. "He... it's a matter of principle. And pride. And... Soojung, he  _drugged_ me. I said I didn't want to go. We barely leave the hotel as it is—I don't want this life! This isn't what I signed up for! He's doing it for  _money,_ and the pride, do you know what the pride's for? He wants to be able to beat Kyungsoo. So that then he can run off with Kyungsoo and take over the world without any kind of inferiority complex."

Soojung was looking at him with very concerned eyes.

He sighed. "Got a cigarette? I don't wanna go back in to get a drink." His head was hurting a little, how it sometimes did. Soojung just shook her head and her eyes just got more concerned.

"I want to come with you." Soojung spoke like she was attempting to tame a wild lion. 

"Okay." Sehun nodded, and took Soojung's hand on an impulse. "Hey, I'm... I'm really glad I met you. I..." He had never been very good at the sappy stuff. That's why he worked with Jongin, because Jongin did it without hesitation, so that it felt natural. 

"Don't get mad at me, okay?" Soojung replied quietly. "But, I just think... we all kind of work on the assumption that everyone is out for their own self-interest. And maybe it's best for you to go back to Chicago. And maybe it's best for him to stay here. But maybe it's best for you to be together, you've got to see the merit in that too. Just... promise you'll talk to him, before you leave?" He wasn't looking at her. She made him. "Promise?"

He nodded. "Good." Her tone morphed into brusqueness; she'd taken the nod for a promise. He hadn't promised. "Now let's go inside and you that drink. I feel like some blackjack." And she brought him back inside, where Jongin stood waiting.

His white t-shirt was a little stained and a little rumpled, its scoop neck showing some of his collarbone and the beginnings of what must have been intended to be a hickey. His hair was a disaster, run through a thousand times, and he held a cigarette carelessly between his lips by just the tip, like he'd forgotten it was there.

It seemed like he'd been at a loss for what to do, and just been standing there like that while Soojung and Sehun had been talking. Sehun remembered when he'd pulled her away for a whispered conversation. He knew how it felt. So he took a deep breath and grasped Jongin's hand—the most contact they'd had in days—and pulled him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. 

Jongin stumbled in and stared at Sehun with wide eyes, again in the middle of the room, standing in that way he had, with his shoulders thrown a little back like he didn't realize how attractive he was and was accidentally putting it all on display.

It was awkward. No—perhaps they were past that. It was  _intense_. Jongin didn't hold back, just stared, stared at Sehun like he could do it forever. 

Sehun took a few steps forward, unsure why he was doing it until he got close enough to feel the warmth coming from Jongin's body, and then he knew. Knew that whatever his self-interest told him, he was addicted to  _this_. He had enough addictions to know.

"How've you been?" It wasn't him speaking, it was Jongin, who had reached up to grasp the smoking cigarette from his own lips so that a few words could slip huskily from his mouth.

He looked tired. The circles beneath his eyes were worse than Sehun had ever seen them, and he was skinnier than he usually was. "How've  _you_   been?" He replied, realizing they were both speaking in almost-whispers. It probably had something to do with the fact that the only light was the moon shining bright and full through the window and the small side lamp in the corner. Shadows were not a place for shouting.

"Missing you." 

Sehun had forgotten how straightforward Jongin could be. Instead of answering, he reached forward. Jongin was confused for a moment before he realized that Sehunw as reaching for his cigarette, which he let go of. He watched with hungry eyes as Sehun brought it to his lips.

"I've missed you, too," Sehun replied as smoke wafted from his mouth. 

Jongin started forward, but then stopped, like he was willingly suppressing something that was automatic. "Can I...?" It was a strange state to see him in, unsure of what he could and couldn't do. Trying to be respectful.

"Fuck it." Sehun flicked the cigarette onto an ashtray on the dresser and grabbed Jongin around his neck, bodily bringing him forward to steal a long, hot, openmouthed kiss. Jongin was too stunned to do anything at first, but soon moved closer so their fronts were brushing, and kissed back with just as much fervor.

"Ahh, come on," Sehun growled, sensing his hesitation. He hadn't thrown feelings to the wind to have a tentative Jongin in his arms. He sucked Jongin's bottom lip, catching it in his teeth, and tried to press them even closer to each other, his other hand playing with the hem of Jongin's shirt.

Jongin was not hard to get going, however. He got the message, and soon his hands were squeezing Sehun's ass just how he liked it, and doing little body rolls to boot, bringing Sehun forward so they were grinding on the front. 

"Baby, does this—" Jongin started, his voice scratchy, but pushed him down onto the bed and was climbing on top to straddle him, barely giving his mouth a respite. His  _mouth_. Plump, addicting lips, hot breath, sensual, flexible tongue, all teasing his soul from his body. 

Jongin didn't stand a chance. He'd been so aggressively wanting Sehun that now that he had him, he was overwhelmed, and he shivered everywhere Sehun touched him, and he whined when Sehun took his lips from his, even just to kiss down his neck.

They lost themselves in each other, and discovered each other like it was the first time. The slide of soft fabric over skin had Jongin moaning, finally able to run his hands across Sehun's rippling abs and dusty nipples. Finally got to feel Sehun's back arch as he grinded down. Finally got to let his teeth brush against Sehun's neck and feel Sehun's hand tighten its hold on his hair.

"Stop." Sehun pushed Jongin back against the headboard and got off Jongin. Jongin let himself collapse, his lips swollen, and watched as Sehun, flushed, tried to get his bearings. "I'm too sober for this," he muttered, spinning once in search of something that would remedy the situation. "Soojungah!" 

It wasn't very loud but Soojung opened the door frighteningly quickly, and for some reason this made Sehun laugh a little. Jongin just smiled from the bed. Sehun wondered if it was strange to call for her when they were both shirtless, with obvious boners and swollen lips. She'd changed into her pajamas, which, since the hotel was unusually warm, consisted of a simple shift.

"Whatever happened to that weed you got our hands on the other day?"

Soojung was openly staring. Then, she seemed to get a hold over herself—and here, Sehun had to give her credit— _despite_  Jongin's smirk, and roll her eyes. "It's in the safe. I'll roll one for you.  _Just_ this once." She seemed happy. Quietly happy. 

Sehun wondered sadistically if she thought what she saw meant he wasn't leaving. She soon returned with a joint and a lighter and Sehun almost asked her to stay before he looked over at Jongin, who was busy downing the rest of an old glass of bourbon, and decided against it.

She must have seen the debate in his eyes, because she smiled and brought his ear down to her mouth. " _It's like you two think I don't fuck anyone._ " 

He chuckled. Of course she'd picked someone up. He could still remember when Jongin had seen her in that casino, drop-dead gorgeous and totally cooled to the world around her. She had only to look at a man.

Sehun returned to Jongin's lap like returning home, settling himself down as Jongin stroked his ass like it was the most precious thing in the world. Sehun put a thumb on Jongin's lower lip, applying downward pressure so Jongin opened his mouth. Then he kissed him and Jongin breathed in the smoke like a true professional. 

Jongin smiled as he let the smoke go. "I missed that," he said quietly, his voice sparkling, his hands traveling everywhere.

"mm." was Sehun's response as he kissed along the sharp edge of Jongin's jaw, languidly grinding on his lap. 

"You know," continued Jongin. "How you stop it to get a fix of something then come back. It's cute." 

Sehun sighed, happy because he liked the rumble Jongin's voice made in his throat. "Shut up and fuck me, will you."

That got Jongin going, and Sehun took one last drag as Jongin flipped him over and swept his pants off. Then he had to drop it because Jongin had a lubed finger up his ass and his lips wrapped around a nipple. This was enough. This was overwhelming enough, this was enough stimulation to send him into blissful overload. 

Jongin stayed with his tongue on Sehun's dick longer than Sehun could handle, with three fingers pumping in his ass, and he had to whine Jongin's name loudly before Jongin trailed his way back up to Sehun's eager mouth. He was suprised to find that Jongin hadn't even taken his pants off, so he did it himself, settling Jongin in his favorite position against the headboard and pumping his cock. He'd missed it, its length and curve and the way it felt when it brushed against his hole.

When he sank down, he saw with a practiced eye the way Jongin had to clench his jaw to control himself, even as he leaned in to swallow Jongin's groan with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. He had to let out a hot breath, a little  _ahh_  as he felt Jongin fill him fully. He pressed their chests together, arching his back, and just breathed for a second, mouth against mouth with Jongin, absorbing him, trying to preserve every touch, every pass of Jongin's hands along his back and over his ass.

They rocked together in a perfect lover's rhythm, able to find exactly where the other wanted to be and what made them closest. And Sehun hoped it would never stop, the buzz in his head, the searing heat of Jongin's skin, Jongin's panting breath against his neck as he thrust up into Sehun, the way Sehun's body shuddered when Jongin hit the right place. He hoped it would never stop.

This was enough. This blissful overload.  _Enough._

It was morning when Jongin was finally fast asleep beside him, his bare chest shining in the moonlight. He looked younger asleep; the tension in his face went away and he looked distinctly ageless. 

Sehun shoved it down. It would not be bittersweet. Better that Jongin at least finish this tryst with Soo Man alone, or with Soojung, who had done it before. He didn't want it. He didn't like the way it took this beautiful, sleeping man and made him look at money like it was what had given him life and what kept him alive. It felt dangerous in a way Sehun wanted nothing at all to do with. He wanted the Jongin of Chicago to be what he remembered, fetching him a glass of whiskey but insisting one kiss as a tax. 

Because he'd never expected this to be permanent anyway. He had smelled it on Jongin the first time they'd met, along with the distinct odor of the subway. Jongin moved, he didn't settle.

Soojung wasn't outside; Sehun assumed she'd found someone else's room to stay in. He'd call her when he got home. 

He wondered if Jongin's pillow would still smell like Jongin when he got there, unsure of whether he hoped it would or not.

The door shut quietly behind him, like it had been made for stealthy desertions. 

* * *

seahorse's note: sad times are upon us as Sehun steals away into the night. stay tuned for something more uplifting. maybe. lol. comment your thoughts thank you muchhh! This wasn't my favorite chapter to write. Sehun is a stupid lil shit if I ever wrote one.


	14. Hopefully I'm Still a Hustler

The bed was cold. Jongin had lost a fair amount of body fat since Junmyeon had left, and it left him shivering unless there was someone in the bed with him. He opened his eyes shivering slightly, with a nameless terror running crazed circles in his mind.

"Jongin?" Soojung's voice floated towards him from the door of the bedroom. She was still in her dress from last night. Jongin watched her through his lashes, unwilling to get up. When Soojung saw he didn't intend to reply, she said quietly, "Sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. You were talking in your sleep."

"I was?" Jongin propped himself up on one elbow, not missing the way Soojung's eyes raked his exposed body. "I've never sleeptalked before." He thought for a moment. "What was I saying."

Soojung regarded him silently. "Its not important," she said finally. "Come on, I'll order some breakfast. Let me just take a shower."

"Where's Sehun?"

Soojung stopped her tiptoe towards the bathroom, and when she turned around Jongin saw that she'd paled slightly. "Didn't he say anything to you? I'll beat the shit out of him, I really will."

"What do you mean?" Jongin could feel that there was something he did not know, but he was sure of Sehun, so it had to be something else. A problem with their finances, maybe. Or with his parents.

"He really—" Soojung bit her lip, rocking back on her heels. "He told me last night he was planning to skip town back to Chicago. But then... you two were... anyway, I thought he'd changed his mind. Or I at least he'd tell you what was going on his brain."

"He's gone?" The bed felt colder still than it had a moment before, and Jongin felt stupid for just repeating things Soojung said. Soojung didn't take the bate, didn't take it back, just stared at him with what Jongin was almost sure was pity. 

Had he failed in some profound way? He'd respected Sehun's boundaries, even when they only made his heart skip more quickly whenever he and Sehun were in the same room. He'd constructed a grand life for them and their future, except it was imparative that Sehun  _be_ there. He had to be there for the penthouse suite, an upgraded apartment like Sehun's in Chicago, but in New York, looking out over Central Park, perhaps high enough that Jongin could see where he grew up from their window. 

Sehun had come to him last night, of that he was sure. Something like that couldn't be a dream, because he stored each movement Sehun made safely away where it could not be touched by the fog of normal memory. Perhaps he had failed there, failed to convince Sehun that he had a reason to stay.

Soojung was staring holes into his soul. Jongin licked his lips and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shoved a hand through his hair. "I..." His voice broke and he realized he was shaking, not shivering. At the first sound out of Jongin's mouth, Soojung was at his side, eyes big and concerned, smuged makeup giving her the image of a sad tiger. Jongin tried to take a deep breath. 

"I feel like I've been cast out to sea," he whispered, "and land just keeps moving farther and farther away."

Soojung made a pained sound in the back of her throat.

"Land's not supposed to  _do_ that," Jongin whispered through his teeth, frustration fizzling wherever he tried to throw it. 

"Nini, we can—we can—oh, nini, I don't know..." Soojung had no response, not one of substance. 

"Go on." Jongin's voice was falt and louder than his whisper, as if to call in to question whether he had said anything at all. "You smell like sex and sweat."

Soojung balked, sitting up a little. Jongin knew her, knew that her strengths did not lie in what she said. The very fact that she was here rent his heart into a confused mess, because he'd always considered her something distinctly  _Sehun_ 's. But after all, she was not a thing. She was a her, Soojung, and she had followed him here too, and here she was with shining eyes, come back to make sure he didn't fall apart. 

She would see him do no such thing. "Seriously." he gave her a half-hearted smile. "It's a break-up. I have work in a few hours anyway. Go shower."

"You're playing like shit, Jongin." The voice was condescending and grating behind him, low enough that his opponents didn't hear him. So his shot hadn't had as much  _finesse._ The ball did not carry with it as much  _pizzaz._ At least it went in.

Then it didn't, and he was grasped by the collar and dragged out of the room without being able to finish the game. "Jongin! Look at me, son." Soo Man's eyes were hard and unforgiving. "What's the matter with you? I've never seen you miss a shot you didn't want to miss in your life!"

"Sorry sir. It won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't, but I still want to know what exactly is going on."

Jongin clenched his jaw. "I said it won't happen again."

Soo Man stared at him incredulously for another moment, then took his collar again and dragged him out of the casino proper, so that they stood outside in the cloudy drizzle of the outside world. "Say that to me again. We had that guy on the rope, and he was going to give it all up. I don't need you screwing everything up right now.  _You_ don't need you screwing everything up right now."

"Oh, fuck off." Jongin was tired, and the words slipped out naturally. Junmyeon would have huffed and gone to get him a cute boy and a drink, but Soo Man just stood up straight like he'd been slapped. 

"If you're going to be like that I can't help you," he said, his voice quiet and razor-sharp.

Jongin regarded him, failing to keep the sizzling resentment from his eyes. But the fact that his eyes were so stripped also meant that Soo Man saw something more than resentment in them. Maybe it was loyalty, or some kind of twisted trust—but whatever he saw, it made him straighten his suit and step back.

"It's those two I found in your room the other night, isn't it? What, trouble in paradise? I told you it was a bad idea and I told you not to bring them. Now if you want to go get your personal life straightened out that's just fine, but—"

"It's quite alright, sir. They won't be a problem any longer."

Soo Man tensed even more, looking over Jongin's shoulder. "Clearly they are."

Jongin turned, following his line of sight, to see Soojung dressed in a red satin dress, styled almost like a nightgown, that showed miles of skin like she sometimes did.

Soo Man startled at Jongin's harsh laugh. "You're really so clueless sometimes," Jongin said. "You know all about people when their hands are on their wallets. But when they're playing with their hearts and not money you're just as clueless as the next guy."

"I think you're insulting me."

"I am." Jongin narrowed his eyes. "If you knew what you were talking about you'd know that she's all that's keeping me from losing every game I play."

"What about the other one? The... the blonde one?"

Jongin was tired of standing out here. He felt icky after actually missing a shot and he wanted to go reassure himself of his own abilities. He turned, ignoring Soo Man's icy glare for once, throwing over his shoulder, "You probably don't even know I'm gay."  He looked at Soojung. "... _ish._ " Then he lit a cigarette and won the game.

And turned around. Soo Man usually stayed in the same place while he was playing, having the unique ability to sit in the same position for hours on end, and as far as Jongin could tell, his back issues were minimal.

Soo Man was gone, and Jongin looked at the money sitting in his hands with a measure of panic. He knew what happened to hustlers who didn't share like they were supposed to. Jongin didn't want to get locked out of the business because Soo Man was homophobic or something equally stupid.

Soojung rescued him, taking the money and gracefully slipping it into her purse before taking his arm and leading him through the smoky poolroom, which was only half-full on a weeknight past midnight. "That didn't look good," she murmured. She had the hard, crystalline look in here eyes of someone who knows they're walking on thin ice.

"Come on," he murmered. "We need to get out of here." He led oer quickly out of the poolroom and up to their room successfully, The moment the door closed, Jongin collapsed under the tension, closing his eyes like it could make everything go away. Cigarettes weren't working the way they usually did, or alchahol, and Jongin thought that happiness was surely underestimated and should be classified under the most powerful of drugs. Without, he was a shell who seemed to be doing everything wrong.

"Is this okay? Isn't he going to come for you?" Soojung's voice swept into his mind like wind chimes. 

"Yes." Jongin stared at the ceiling, which looked like it got farther away and then fell right on top of him, oscsillating to his foggy brain. "He'll come for me. And the money. You should get out while you can."

"Jongin." Her voice was so gentle that he felt himself pulled up into a sitting poisition so he could see her face, half-hidden in shadow. "How many times do I have to stay for you to believe that I won't go?"

Jongin opened his mouth, closed it again. "But you... you just see me...  _brooding._ "

"You overestimate yourself. You let your guard slip more than you think you did." Soojung smiled. "Let's get some sleep and talk about it in the morning." She slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and Jongin turned his head away. He wasn't in the mood. "You're always more sunny in the morning," she continued like nothing had changed. "I don't think you ever have been a night person."

* * *

The next morning Jongin woke to a painful banging. Quickly he rinsed his mouth with a swig of bourbon, splashed some cold water onto his face, and opened the door in nothing more than sweat pants and a tank top. 

"Ten?" He vaguely remembered the boy from Chicago, but this was the last place he'd expected to see him. Ten had the wild, wide-eyed look of someone who had a big scary presence breathing down thier neck.  

"They want you downstairs," Ten said, fidgeting. "Hurry, Jongin-ssi." He turned to go, but Jongin caught him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back.

"Who is they?" Jongin asked, fully aware of the terror that was plain in his voice. "And why at nine o'clock in the morning?"

"They. Soo Man and Donghae and Shindong and Yesung. Please." He was looking at Jongin's hand, which was still gripping his collar. Jongin let him go quickly and watched him scamper back down the hall, chewing at his lip. 

He remembered a windy condo in Japan, high enough for the cars below to be a blur of red lights in gridded stripes across the city which glowed even in the dead of night. He remembered the determined set of Momo's shoulders as she stared back at Park, her small fists crushing the money she held in her hands. The hush of the crowd, the calm on Park's face as he waited for her to give it to him and she refused. 

Jiho had come out with his friends noisily, high on a win, and even they had quieted down when they understood what was happening. Calmly, Park had taken out his phone and typed a short message into it as horror grew on Momo's face. Jongin hadn't known either of them very well, and he hadn't been very good then, either: she'd beaten him and he'd just stood off in the corner, undsure of why the girl who'd won looked like she was having her heart ripped out.

"She's getting banned from every poolroom in the country," a voice beside him had quietly whispered. Jongin turned to find a small man watching the exchange with wise eyes. 

"Why?"

"She isn't paying him. He had her for five years and that's how long she paid the contract for, except somehow he got her to sign up for another five but she says she didn't. Either way, he's got the power. She'll have to move or never play pool again."

The thought had sickened him when Junmyeon had explained it for the first time, and it sickened him now—and what especailly sickened him was the fact that he was in this position because of a skinny college kid with a scar from Chicago, and that he was still worrying about that skinny college kid.

They sat in an imposing circle of incredibley plush chairs, smoking cigars, looking like they had stepped straight out of the sixties. 

"Good morning." Soo Man spoke first.

"Good morning, sir." Jongin swallowed.

"Feeling better?" Soo Man asked.

"Very much, thank you sir. I was... I wasn't myself last night."

"The night is all that matters, in this industry," Yesung responded, his voice flat.

"Well, it certainly isn't night right now." Jongin smiled a little and shoved a hand into his suit pocket. Damnit, he wasn't going to be intimidated by these relics.

"No, it certainly isn't. That's the problem. We've heard there was some buisness left unfinished."

They seemed to be waiting for answer, so Jongin opted for silence.

"You owe me money," Soo Man said finally, his small eyes hard and unforgiving behind the haze of smoke that easily leaked from his mouth.

"I thought our buisness was done for the night," Jongin replied, careful to keep his voice calm and level. "When you disappear, it usually means you are leaving me to my own devices."

"You hadn't left the poolroom." Soo Man raised an eyebrow.

It was a tribunal. It was a trial. Jongin was fighting for his life. "I practice often in the poolroom. I have to practice to maintain the form I have at present. I am also aware that there are conventions prreventing individuals from simply walking away from money games. If that is what you are implying I should have done."

Shindong leaned across and whispered something in Soo Man's ear. Soo Man clenched his jaw and knocked a few cinders from the glowing end of his cigar. "I imply no such thing," he replied, his voice tight. "You are a great talent, Jongin. You are perhaps the best talent in the country. But it stll needs direction, and I thought I could provide it, me alone, but it seems I was wrong, because you have proved to me—you have proved to me—" Soo Man sighed in performed exasperation. "I would simply like my money. And then you can come back to the industry when you are ready to be quite mature about all of it."

Jongin's mouth popped open. Probation, if he could produce the money. Banishment if he couldn't. He wondered if it was homophobia, or if it was that other kind of distain, for the loose way Jongin walked, and the slow smiles he gave everyone, and the way he looked at people; everything Jongin did seemed to annoy Soo Man in some way. Even winning. Especially losing.

"Right." Jongin fished out his wallet and pulled out the biills he'd prepared in anticipation of this. It was his entire earnings from last night, but Soo Man could easily ask for more and the rest of the men seated around him wouldn't think twice. Tension hummed in his chest as he placed the bills into Soo Man's rough fingers, but Soo Man said little more than a castaway 'thank you' and waved his hand, indicating that Jongin was dismissed.

Jongin returned to the hotel room feeling light. Soojung had woken up and put on her makeup and packed her suitcase like she'd somehow sensed that they'd be leaving. She didn't have to say anything for him to know that she was asking what happened.

"We've got to leave." he said, his voice steady and warm. "I'm on probation."

"Where are we going?"

"Chicago."

" _Chicago?_  Jongin, Sehun left, you can't... you can't..."

"Soojung?" Jongin looked closer at the worry blooming across her face "Soojung, you want to go to Chicago, right? Soojung?" She was retreating into herself, as unsure now as she had been sure a moment ago.

"I'm tired of being in the middle of this."

"You just told me last night that you wouldn't leave?" It came out a quiet question. Soojung hesitated. 

"If you go to Chicago you'll just fall back into Sehun's arms." It was a fact, the way she said it. It poured sand into thin air and created a solid arena of packed earth. "I was never a part of Chicago."

"But you would be, now." Jongin couldn't lose again. Soo Man said he lost because he wanted to, because he was a professional at making excuses and wallowing, but he has never intended a tumble like this. He wondered if he could go back in time and just punch Kyungsoo in the face. He wished punching Kyungsoo in the face would make him feel better.

Only beating Kyungsoo would make him feel better.  _Still_. Even as people and money fell away from him. He grasped. "You don't want to go to Chicago. Okay. Okay, I can work with that, I can be flexible." He ran a hand through his hair. "Why don't I fetch him, then, if we're meant to be." It felt like claiming he could step off a cliff and fly. "I'll bring him wherever you want. I'll bring him back to you."

"Back to me?" She smiled. "He was always yours. I'm... I'm going to go to New Orleans. I have some friends down there. If you want to visit, it's a great place. Really."

It had been just last night that she'd said she'd never leave. Jongin hesitated. "You're too selfless for your own good." 

"Why's that?" Her eyes looked sad.

"I think I'm in love with you too, stupid." He pulled her into a hug. "Let's at least take the same cab to the airport." 

She laughed.

* * *

O'hara was a nightmare and it made Jongin grin. When girls stared at him trying to be clandestine he grinned. When the cab finally stopped in front of a familiar starbucks—he'd spent all his money on the plane ticket—his grin fell.

He couldn't just go up to Sehun's apartment and  _be there_.

Sehun had left and he hadn't said goodbye. 

Sehun wasn't his. Chicago wasn't his. He'd been deluded by Soojung. He'd been deluded, and—and now, he had nothing. He was right back where he'd begun, except now he couldn't play pool.

Then, he grasped one unalterable fact and his heart began to beat solid and steady.

He was a hustler. He was still a hustler. He knew how to hustle and he would do it until he figured out what was next. _He was a hustler._

Hopefully.

* * *

seahorse's note: this took me so long I'm so sorry I'm not enjoying this part of the story I'm sorry if it flops or if you don't like it im sorry let me just hide in an imaginary turtle shell I am failing you the next chapter will be very exciting I promise! I still like comments and subscriptions!


	15. Blood, Bone & Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning//blood and gore

Chanyeol stared at the money with wide bambi eyes like it was the first time he'd seen more than a thousand dollars rolled up as twenties before. It wasn't, and Sehun knew it, so he waited patiently until Chanyeol got control of himself and took the money with long, ringed fingers. The pink neon light of the club skipped across the rings on his fingers and the silver of his hair and across the card deck Sehun was idly flippin in his hand. Chanyeol scratched his head.

"I didn't think you'd bring back this much. I'm not even your boss, you know that, right? Contact, maybe, but, this is..."

"Don't worry." Sehun smirked. "It's only thirty percent. I wanted to pay you back for everything you've done for me. I really don't know what I'd do if I couldn't play anymore.

"I assume you'd do whatever you did before you met Jongin. What happened with him, anyway? Ah-ah." Chanyeol caught the back of Sehun's jacket as Sehun tried to turn to go, holding Sehun's weight for a moment as Sehun tried to simply keep walking away. "I'm not letting you leave without spilling."

"Spilling what?" Sehun turned on him, his smirk turned mischievous.

" _Sehun_." Chanyeol gritted out through his teeth. "I know I said you could come play anytime, but if after your first time you're giving me twelve thousand as a cut I think we should have a more serious conversation. And as your  _friend_ , who doesn't actually want to fuck you, because I am  _straight_ , I would personally like to invite you downstairs."

"If you're trying to have a damn heart to heart, I said I was fine—"

"I'm sure you are." Chanyeol grinned, showing teeth. "There's more liquor down there, but I want a solid joint. And idiots... crowd. Being interesting among idiots is so anonymous. You'd like it better down there anyways."

Sehun laughed, his first genuine laugh since he'd gotten back, suprising himself. He ducked when Chanyeol ducked as they descended down some back stairs and came out into a small room that was just tall enough for the two of them but as wide as the whole club above them. It was filled with furniture meant for comfort, and maybe, on occasion, sleep, and it didn't look cleaned daily like the club upstairs did. "Kyungil!" Chanyeol called out to another tall figure draped across a couch.

Sehun huffed. "Is everyone you know tall and handsome?" He asked under his breath. 

Chanyeol chuckled. "I do try. Hustler tend to be attractive. Attractive people tend to know they're attractive and thus spend more attention on being charming. Plus, I have the self-confidence to deal with it. You should, too. The scar makes you stand out." Chanyeol winked at him as Kyungil finally rose, panther-like, only to drag Chanyeol back down onto the couch. It took one good look into Kyungil's handsome face to tell he was stoned out of his mind.

"You look like you need to relax," Kyungil purred, holding out a smoking joint to Sehun by way of greeting. Sehun took it and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "You also—" Kyungil ran a rough hand along Sehun's scar, but Sehun couldn't be bothered to care. "—are glowing from a win. Did you know that gambling is a legitiate addiction, like..." he waved his hand in a whimsical motion, "Heroin? Alcohol? Um..." he seemed to be trying to think of another example.

Sehun let out a puff of smoke. "Love?" he proffered. Both Chanyeol and Kyungil erupted into giggles, and Sehun started to giggle too, at the sappy absurdity of the idea.

"Well,  _I'm_ addicted," Kyungil continued, after they'd settled down. Chanyeol, usually talkative, seemed content with a cheap keyboard balanced across his lap, tapping out something that resembled a jazzy melody. He was a somnolent figure of shining silver and quick smiles. "I started playing poker when I was eleven years old because my mom was dating an idiot, oh my god he was an idiot, who used to lose all his money and I had to make it back so he didn't get mad, how sick is that, isn't that sick?" 

Sehun patted Kyungil's leg, suspecting that Kyungil probably told this to anyone who passed through. "I started when I was twelve, so I guess you got a headstart on me," he murmured, for the sake of the conversation.

"I beat you all," Chanyeol added. "I got my first deck when I was eight. My parents didn't want me getting into trouble while I was away at a football tournament. Little did he know.:

Sehun knew what was happening. He knew that they were just making friendly conversation, and that maybe yes, Chanyeol wanted to learn something about him, but that was normal of friends, right? He desperately wanted Chanyeol to be his friend. Wanted this to be the good he pulled out of the man who slept in the subway. 

He could also feel the stirrings of an old dream, which had been reborn when he had first learned of Jongin's profession but was now growing real legs and taking real portions of Sehun's thought. "I started when my dad first took me to a tournament," he said quietly. The neon signs buzzed quietly around him and Chanyeol had stopped playing. "He never told me what he did before that. No one in the neighborhood talked about it. But it seemed respectable. It was respectable, it was... it was that kind of poker. It felt like coming of age." The night appeared before him in neon and smoky shapes: the dramatic lighting, the red carpeting, the middle-aged men with their bushy eyebrows pulled close together. "He was so at home there, more so than he ever was in our actual home. I wanted it to be my home like that, too. I felt like if it was my home like it was his home, I might finally understand him."

"Ah, the ages-old dream of being just like one's father." Chanyeol brought the joint to his mouth. "How intimidating it must be to be one."

Sehun giggled. "I can't even take care of myself," he said loudly, his voice falling strangely in the room, taking a shot of whatever it was in the shot glass in front of him to prove the point. "Imagine me as a dad. Ha."

"I love kids," Chanyeol said with faraway eyes. "They make me feel fuzzy. Like,  _really_  fuzzy."

"Kids," chimed in Kyungil, "are tiny devils. They have no learned moral compass. They will manipulate you to get what they want." He huffed. "They just get away with it because they're cute and they'd lose if it was hand to hand combat."

Sehun and Chanyeol dissolved into giggles again, and Kyungil followed shortly, and Sehun abandoned himself to the night, to the study of forgetting and the relentless push forward that he thought he'd lost in those listless months when he'd had no one but the bottle. 

That night, Chanyeol escorted him home since he was too drunk and high to get there safely. He seemed suprised when Sehun resisted his hand on his back, trying to push him into the apartment. "What, don't like your place all of a sudden?"

Sehun wasn't prescient and just lolled against the doorway. "Smells like nini," he mumbled. Chanyeol knew what he meant; the apartment smelled like coffee and cookies, both of which he knew Jongin loved and assumed were his mark on the place. Still, after some cajoling, Chanyeol got him into bed, a small frown of worry poking dimples into his cheeks.

* * *

" _Hello_." The word was low and seductive, and for the first time, Chanyeol thought maybe Sehun's scar was actually an asset; it shone dangerously in the orange light of the sunset that sliced through the big, old windows of the hotel lobby. He felt bad for the mark.

She played her part perfectly, flushing under Sehun's gaze, a tiny thing with wispy blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Chanyeol wished he could assure her she wasn't Sehun's type at all. Instead, she was leading Sehun to the bar in less than two minutes and introducing him to a few other girls at the bar. He swept through the door at Sehun's subtle signal and was immediately attached to a tall brunette who said her name was embarrassing so he should call her Hoody. 

Soon the party was moved to the blonde's penthouse suite—the reason she was the mark—along with Yoongi, a small, seasoned hustler who Sehun hadn't trusted at first but had soon warmed to him, and soon they were cracking jokes dryer than Chanyeol had ever heard in his life.

Sehun acted so at home among the amazing wealth that Chanyeol had to keep reminding himself it was a job. Had to remind himself it would look stupid if he stole the vase on the glass coffee table, or the pumps piled by the door that probably cost as much as his apartment. Sehun walked in with the blonde, Alice, on his arm like she was his, like the suite was his, and spoke so that every girl was hanging on his words. Chanyeol tried to remember a time when Jongin had been this good. He smiled when they needed a smile, and as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, so did theirs. And in Alice's eyes he saw her fucking him in her mind.

When Sehun took out the cards, he smiled with his eyes, and a ripple went through the five girls, but he felt Hoody stiffen beside him. He threw an arm around her. "Don't worry," he said. "If you don't know how to play, we'll teach you. It's fun." He kept his voice deep and comforting.

Hoody relaxed a little into his arm, giving him a small smile and scooting closer. "That's it," she replied, and Chanyeol realized her voice was smoky, like she spent a lot of time in smoking parlours. "I don't know how to play."

"Tell you what," Chanyeol said. "We can be on the same team, okay?" He ignored the jealous stares of the other girls and took their cards. They had a shitty hand, so Chanyeol explained that the best thing to do was to fold so they didn't waste any money. Hoody nodded and they watched together as Sehun and another redhead stayed in. The redhead won on a two pair and Sehun smiled good-naturedly. 

Chanyeol clenched his jaw. It was dangerous, what Sehun was doing; he wasn't even playing poker like it should be played, he was counting cards—all of them—so he knew exactly what everyone had. His fingers were quick enough on the deck that no one would notice except him and Yoongi, who also looked nervous.

They played a few more rounds, and then Hoody tapped his shoulder and he leaned over. "Can I sit between y'all?" She asked. Chanyeol nodded and scooched over on the sofa so Hoody was squeezed between Sehun and Chanyeol. And then she stopped paying attention to Chanyeol, and her eyes instead began to follow Sehun's fingers in a way that made Chanyeol very nervous.

"Chanyeol, can I talk to you?" Yoongi asked. Chanyeol nodded and followed him into the decorative kitchenette. "Why didn't you tell me Hoody was helping out on this job? She's, like, legendary."

"Hoody? Is a hustler?" Chanyeol swallowed. He didn't feel right leaving leaving Sehun alone with them, and he believed Yoongi in anything he said. In truth, he was lucky as hell to get Yoongi on a job at all, since he was only around for a few days before he continued on to Atlantic City in preparation for the New Year's tournament. It would be embarrassing to fuck up in front of him, especially in front of such an easy mark, when Hoody was probably fairly well known. Chanyeol cursed his tendency to stay in the same place for too long.

"Well, she's doing a damn good job of not acting like one." Yoongi smirked. "Or maybe a damn good job of being one. The lines get blurry."

Chanyeol laughed, and the sound came out a stressed squeal. Yoongi looked at him strangely but just went back to the group. Sehun had them producing a fair amount of money now, but he'd changed his focus, and Chanyeol noticed more long periods of eye contact with Hoody.  _No._  She'd eat him alive. He saw it in her eyes now, a serpentine sharpness of thought that was out of place among her friends. 

When they were betting hundreds, Chanyeol began to contemplate getting out before Hoody engulfed them all in flame. They stood to make a hundred thousand at least, and Yoongi was still helping immensely, getting the less-well-off of the girls to keep up with Alice and the redhead, who were clearly the best endowed. 

"Hoody," Chanyeol heard Sehun say as he shuffled the cards fast enough that the other girls were watching in fascination. "Mind if I talk to you privately?"

"What about?" she shot back. "You should watch out, you'll make somebody jealous."

"Oh, don't worry. If you want to impress me, you'll beat me." Sehun turned his gaze outward for the line, then turned back towards Hoody. "It's generally polite when people are gambling to take real conversations outside the game. I have innocent questions about your bomb-ass tattoo artist, that's all."

Hoody raised an eyebrow, but there was nothing else she could say. She followed him, and Chanyeol wasn't sure whether to hold his breath or let it go: whether he'd been saved or sentenced. 

Yoongi just cleared his throat and kept the game going, kept Alice giggling, kept the champagne coming, and the money piling up. Two minutes passed, then five, and Chanyeol began to worry. He used the lame excuse of taking a piss, and padded off towards the bedrooms.

The noises were muffled but distinctive and Chanyeol stopped in his tracks, unsure. He listened again. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face and he wanted to hug Sehun. Out of curiosity, now, he tiptoed forward to peek into the bedroom, and sure enough, Hoody was bent against the wall, back arched as Sehun slammed into her.

They emerged from the bedroom about fifteen minutes later, arguing (very professionally) about tattoo techniques, and by that time Chanyeol and Yoongi had earned more than what they'd come for. Hoody caught his arm as they were about to leave, holding him back from the retreating figures of his partners. "You're lucky your partner knows a hustler when he meets one," she said under her breath. "I was planning to milk you three for everything. Don't come back to this hotel if you know what's good." She raised an eyebrow. "But  _he_ can. Tell him he can leave the cards at home."

Chanyeol nodded, wondering how Sehun had fucked someone who was currently scaring him shitless. Needless to say Sehun got most of the haul from the job and Chanyeol's eternal gratitude. 

As he turned the money over in his hands, though, in the doorway of his apartment again, Chanyeol was shaken by the sadness that crept across his face from one end of his scar to the other. "You should forget him, you know," Chanyeol said, in a spur of sentimentality. "He couldn't have done that. He's too trusting. I probably know you better than he ever did. He doesn't even know about your dad. You're a great hustler, Sehun, and—Sehun?" Chanyeol stopped, confused, as a heavy warmth crashed into him, pinning him against the wall, large hands fisting in his shirt. Wet spots were blooming against his shoulder. Sehun was shaking. "Sehun?" The name was whispered and shaky, unsure and afraid. Chanyeol had no idea what to do.

So he let Sehun cry. Despite the oncoming winter outside, inside the heaters were working too well and a sticky heat surrounded them, making Chanyeol's hair stick to his forehead. His mind buzzed with the flies that congregated around the small lightbulb in the hallway. Should he hate Jongin? From the little he knew, it was Sehun who had left Jongin. Did Sehun need a rebound? A new apartment?

Maybe he just needed to cry.

* * *

Jongin smiled as wide as he could, trying to hide his disdain for the disrepair of the poolroom. He knew his clothes matched the place anyway. The people were nameless in his mind, even as he repeated them back to them and invited them in a perfectly friendly, calm tone to play a game with him.  _I don't play much, but I really feel like it tonight._  He'd said the words a thousand times. It was still natural for him, and that at least relieved some of the pressure in his chest. 

Soon he'd lost his first few games with precision, and he felt warm and loose, and he already had a few drinks in him, and he let his thoughts drift. He'd walked past this joint once with a pouting Sehun, who kept grumbling because he was too sober for comfort. Jongin always liked the way Sehun leaned against him, with all his weight, like he was sure that there was no way Jongin could ever fall down.

Jongin had made a joke as they walked past. "That's where you go when you're desperate and broke," he'd said. Sehun had enlightened him to the fact that they probably categorized as both. "And alone," Jongin had finished, pulling Sehun closer. Chicago in the summer was lovely, perfectly windy in a way that caressed the skin without being too harsh. He noticed the wind more when he was with Sehun because Sehun was always commenting about it, saying that rough wind made his scar tug and gentle wind made his scar sing. It made him wonder if he was really the poetic one.

He wondered if Sehun's scar tugged a lot, now that the cold was really picking up. He didn't have someone anymore to block the wind with his face. He didn't— "Hey! Kid, pay attention , will ya?" Jongin was jerked out of his thoughts and back to reality. It wasn't nearly as whimsical. Instead, angry, masculine faces watched him, bristling with hostility. He looked down at his money pile and swore out loud.  _"Shit._ " He'd made five times as much as he could have safely made that night in half the time he should have made anything.

On autopilot, he inevitably won. A man with a scar under his cheek who bore no resemblance at all to Sehun was well into his personal space. "Are you going to play another game, kid?"

Jongin swallowed. He was seasoned enough to know there was no outcome in which he got out of this unscathed. Maybe Sehun, with his creative mi— _no_. Jongin gritted his teeth. He brought the rest of his drink to his lips, well aware that between his pumping heart and the pulsing vein in this man's head, he'd need all the numbness he could get. "No, I won't play another game."

"What was that? I couldn't hear you kid, what did you say?"

"I said I'm good, man, look—I don't want any trouble."

"You don't want any trouble. He doesn't want any trouble, you hear that, boys?" The man turned to the rest of the crowd, gesturing to Jongin like he was the main attraction at a fair. Jongin tried to take a step back but found himself coming up against something very solid behind him.  _Someone_ very solid. He wondered how many times the average hustler got beaten up in his life. He could hear Junmyeon's voice in his head as clear as day.  _The best hustlers have healed a million bruises, Jongin-ah. That's how they learned._

And guilt. He was still dragging around the guilt for the time Sehun had gotten what for, while Jongin had been with him. Jongin hadn't ever gotten around to going back there and getting even. He made a mental note to do so in the future, even if he and Sehun weren't together anymore. He tensed up, regretting how lax he'd been lately about getting to the gym. Harder muscles meant bruises that went away more quickly.

"Ahhh." The man's voice had a hard, clean edge to it. Jongin noticed that he could see strange splotches of melanoma on his head beneath his badly done buzz cut. The man was ugly. Another point against Jongin, because that meant he'd just hit harder, trying to make Jongin uglier. It didn't matter. "You think we're just going to give you a beating." Cold, grey eyes stared at him, and for a moment, Jongin's facade slipped, and he smirked. He didn't care. 

"We're not gonna beat you, kid, don't worry. We know what to do with hustlers." Air wheezed into and out of the man's nose. He needed to trim his nose hair. Jongin's nose crinkled in disgust. "You shoulda targeted the rich folks a couple streets up. See, we get pretty angry when people take our money. No, let's make sure that you learn your lesson, nice and proper,  _Kai_."

Jongin closed his eyes. Thank god he'd remembered to use his pseudonym. Then the metaphorical hammer came down. "Break his thumbs. Come on, do it right here on the table. There you go." Two hands bodily grabbed him and slammed his hands onto the pool table, and suddenly the words filtered into his brain.  _No_. Not his thumbs. The only things he needed to make a living. He didn't need a ribcage, or feet, or even a dazzling smile, but he  _needed his thumbs to play._ Everything went from mattering not at all to mattering very much.

"Not on the table, come on guys." His words came out a drunken mumble. "Respect the fucking... respect the table." It wasn't even a very nice table. The felt was fraying and the wood was rotting, but it was all he could think to say. 

"Respect the table, he says!" This was apparently exceedingly funny. Jongin's thumbs were laid out, all pretty and delicate under the harsh light, and rock bottom tasted like heavy steel in his mouth. Somebody got the fire ax from the back.

They didn't give him anything to bite on, so he screamed. They used the butt, not the sharp tip, so they got smashed and not cleanly broken off. Jongin screamed anyway, screamed like he wanted his throat to fly away and never come back. Struggling was useless.

What felt like hours later, he was dropped on the street somewhere. It was cold out and he was shivering in seconds. His drunkenness had mostly worn off but he was hysterical and in a strange city, because yes, this had only been this city when Sehun had been his.

He stood, and began walking, clutching bleeding, broken hands to his stomach.

* * *

It was too late for it to be Chanyeol or Kyungil or the man who delivered his liquor. Sehun looked quickly around his apartment and picked up a ladle, opening the door slowly, keeping it poised above his head.

When he saw who it was, the metal slipped from his hand, crashing to the ground and echoing in his ears along with the buzz of shock. Jongin was paler than he'd ever seen him, his hair greasy and too long, hiding his eyes. His cheeks were sunken and he'd lost entirely too much weight. Clutched to his chest were his hands, and a dark substance stained his brown leather jacket. 

"Jongin," he whispered. "What happened to you?" 

Before Jongin could answer, he was falling, and Sehun was catching him, and seeing the destroyed mess of his thumbs, and calling 911, and getting Jongin into bed, and calling Chanyeol, and focusing on everything except the one thought that mattered.  _Jongin had come back._

* * *

seahorse's note: there it is, ladies and gentlemen! I'm a little proud of this chapter. What a reunion. Comment what you think!


	16. Hell Has Nothing On America

Little tendrils of frost were beginning to creep across the window, weaving a flat spiderweb across the view of the street outside that was so familiar Jongin barely needed to look, just position his body in such a position that he  _would_ be looking out the window. The frost made the sunlight brighter and whiter, and did the same to his skin. Or perhaps his skin was, indeed, whiter than it had been the last time he'd sat here, the cool window pressed against his naked back, a cigarette dangling between two fingers, watching Sehun pour himself a drink through heavy-lidded eyes.

Jongin slid his eyes from the window to the apartment. It smelled like home, it looked like home, and his mind hadn't done it justice. When he was a small child, he'd never gotten homesick—except, when he would return to his small bedroom in Vegas, and lie on the mattress on the floor with deliberate slowness. Then, something that had never existed had bloomed like blood from a bullet wound in his chest and he had cried. He had never cried anywhere but home.

The door to the apartment was so worn around the edges that the shadow of someone approaching could be seen on the other side, and heard like there was no barrier at all. The lock was sticky; Jongin had always needed Sehun to do it, with a practiced twist of delicate fingers. For a breathless moment, Sehun had to close and lock the door and set his groceries down, and Jongin was able to study him candidly.

His scar looked... bigger, like it dominated his face. Or maybe it was that his face was pinched, smaller than it should be. A face that had lost weight. His roots were coming in and his hair fell into his eyes. His wool coat was layered over a sweater which looked layered over another shirt, but he still looked cold. Jongin shivered. 

Sehun caught him looking and Jongin's eyes flew open, caught in the act of doing something that somehow felt prohibited, now. It didn't matter; Sehun's eyes were different. They were prouder, more drawn in on themselves, warier. They didn't jump out at him like they used to. 

Jongin coughed. It might have been a sob, but it was more startled and more sick. Sehun didn't rush to his side. Instead, he lingered by the door, watching Jongin with wary, untrusting eyes. "You kept me." He muttered, sure Sehun wouldn't hear him all the way across the apartment.

"Well, you're not exactly a stray cat I could leave outside," Sehun shot back sulkily. They regarded each other.

"I'm sorry I came here."

"You had nowhere else to go."

Jongin would have argued, except he was right, and it wasn't embarrassing for Sehun, only for Jongin. He wondered where Soojung was right now, with her understanding eyes. He'd even take Kyungsoo's cocky sideeye over the look Sehun was giving him right now. He'd take Junmyeon's quiet sympathy.

"I've never seen you go grocery shopping before."

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Sehun broke his heart. It was true, he didn't.

"What happened?" Jongin blinked moist eyes.

"With your thumbs? Six weeks and you should be fine. They'll be fine before your probation is over." Sehun's voice was monotone as he moved flat-footed to put the groceries away. 

"You know about that?" Jongin swallowed.

"Of course."

It was to be short, curt answers. It was to be the twisting of the knife, as the miniscule fragments of ice twisted the glass infinitely small margins apart.  _At least there is the chug of the heater that is too loud and heats too much,_  he thought.  _At least there is the creaky floorboards and deep-voiced dog next door._ But Sehun's voice was the best of the apartment.

If Sehun knew about his probation, it meant he'd kept up with Jongin's crowd, probably more than Jongin had. "Have you seen—who've you been—" Jongin sucked in a breath as Sehun came close, to sit on the edge of the bed. Sehun kept his face carefully blank, but Jongin felt his blood begin to pound just the same, because Sehun's heat was so much better than a heater's.

Surprisingly gentle hands gripped his wrists and brought his hands to rest above the covers. Jongin realized he hadn't even thought about his thumbs since he'd woken up; there'd been too much else to think about. Besides, they didn't really hurt, more ached, and ached aggressively. He'd endured worse. He felt the ghost of Sehun's breath as Sehun's eyebrows knit together, pulling his scar just slightly inwards, as he inspected the casts. In another lifetime, Jongin would have kissed the scar.

" _Broken._ " Sehun murmured, and for a moment Jongin wasn't sure if he really meant the thumbs. It certainly seemed like the last thing on Sehun's mind. Jongin thought back on the brief moments he'd seen Sehun in the past day or two as he'd drifted in and out of consciousness.  _Broken._  A perfect description.

"Chanyeol will be in to watch you later," Sehun continued, his voice flat again, like he hadn't said anything at all. Jongin cleared his throat. "You can stand and everything, so he'll take you to the club as soon as the morphine wears off."

"Where are you going?" Jongin knew it sounded desperate and didn't care. Echoes of deranged dreams of the past sprang up around him unbidden: of penthouses and sparkling things, of bubble baths and chandeliers and calling Sehun  _mine_. The echoes were his companions now, his tormenters. 

Hell had nothing on America.

"Out." Sehun was standing and shrugging his coat back on, but Jongin didn't miss the smirk that Sehun couldn't hide and a pure, desperate joy welled up in his chest. Their second night together. Sehun hadn't known he was a hustler then.  _Out._

He almost let him leave like that. Almost. "Wait Sehun wait I know I didn't come back exactly in the most eloquent of ways but the point is I'm going to try and I'm going to follow you and you're going to have to run away more than once or tell me to go away more than once because you told me you loved me and I told you I loved you and if you aren't happy I'll make you happy I'll ma—" Jongin took a deep breath. Sehun was gone.

He'd stood in the doorway, frozen, for the majority of Jongin's rushed tumble of words, but at  _you loved me_  he'd whisked out of the apartment, and by  _aren't happy_  the key had turned in the lock and he was gone.

Jongin slumped and moved to wipe his brow which was already slick with sweat, and winced when he was met with the hard, unforgiving plastic of his cast. Then he leaned over for the first time ever since he'd stayed in that apartment and slid a book from the bookshelf that lined the wall. Might as well keep himself occupied. He didn't need to prove to himself that he could brood.

"You won't get better sitting like that, you know," came a deep voice from the doorway. Jongin blinked, lowering the book enough to see Chanyeol's silver head. "Although," continued the rumble, "I do question whether you want to."

There was a pause, and Chanyeol's presence, however tall, barely invaded the buzz of the lights the the whistle of the wind outside the window and the clank of the heater. Then, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're right where you want to be."

Jongin dog-eared his book, which really had been putting him in an amicable, ninteenth-century British mood. It was hard—the dog-earing part, that is, without thumbs to help him. It took him a drawn-out few moments of frustration, and as he did it, he felt Chanyeol watching him with shining, quiet eyes under his hair.

"You're right, I guess. But fuck you anyway."

Chanyeol raised an eyebrow. "You were fluffy as shit last time I saw you."

"Shit's not fluffy."

"See?"

"Chanyeol, why wouldn't I want him back? I didn't do this on purpose, I know that's what you think, but I didn't. But why wouldn't I want him back, I'm addicted to him, aren't I?"

"You don't know anything about him." Chanyeol's voice wavered in its deep tones; it wasn't capable of being hard, but its warmth bordered on resentful. "Jonginnie. Look at me. I gave you that name, remember?" Chanyeol's eyelashes were long and black. "You like being sure of things. There's nothing wrong with that. Once you have something in your mind, you're stubborn as shit about it, even if you try to convince yourself you've forgotten. A  _person_  can't be  _yours_ , Jongin, not at least without knowing him—them—completely."

"What's that, a lecture?" Jongin fought the tears threatening for the second time that day. 

Chanyeol replied, "A warning."

"Does he have you whipped too or something?" Jongin asked, trying to smile, and failing. _A penthouse. Big windows. Champagne and record players and dancing. He was sure._

"In a way." Chanyeol tilted his head. "But you know me. I fall in love with everybody the second I meet them and then the rest of the relationship is me trying to get my wits about me."

"How romantic."

"Very. At least I'm not trying to beat the world down beneath the heel of my fucking boot." Chanyeol's gaze hadn't softened, wasn't soft like it used to be when they spoke in hushed tones in the back of a pickup truck somewhere north of Bejing while Kris spoke in Cantonese with their guide in the front.

But he still shared a cigarette with Jongin. Thumbs weren't necessary for that, at least. Jongin could practically smell the Sehun on Chanyeol, and he wondered what it was he didn't know about Sehun. Surely there was plenty. What was there that mattered? He was inclined to believe there wasn't anything.

* * *

"I've changed my mind." Sehun startled both Chanyeol and Jongin the next day, breezing in with a gust of cold air, his lips chapped, but a glimmer returned to his eyes.

"About what? The blonde? You should go rainbow next," deadpanned Chanyeol.

"Maybe I will." Sehun smirked. "I could still pull a fine job while you hang your jaw at the first broad you see."

"You suddenly from the twenties? Do we call girls broads now?"

"Don't forget boys, if they're pretty enough."

"What changed your mind?" Chanyeol asked again. Jongin stayed silent through the exchange. It was perfect enough without him.

"I want to go to the zoo." Sehun grinned, taking Chanyeol's coat off its hook and throwing it at him. "You can chaperone to make sure I don't fall back in love with the homeless hustler."

"Hey!" Jongin cut in. "Is that what you've been referring to me as? I'll have you know I'm the honorary owner of a very small apartment in Tokyo, which is a more valuable property than, like, all of Montana!"

Sehun rolled his eyes and made a  _pff  _sound in the front of his mouth. "Sehun, it's way too cold for the zoo. You think the gazelles want to be outside when it's freezing?" Chanyeol's point was valid enough, but Sehun was not to be put off.

"Nah, they'll be fine. We'll lure them out with this." He held up a small plastic baggie with carefully rolled joints neatly packed inside.

"Gazelles don't—"

"He wants to see the leopards." Jongin grinned. "Their teeth would bite through it, I'm afraid."

"I want to see Jongin's family shivering in the cold." Sehun was still smiling, and Chanyeol and Jongin didn't stand a chance. An hour later, they stood in front of the snow leopard habitat, freezing, stamping their feet, waiting for the leopard to decide to show itself.

It wasn't an awful day; the sun was out, and all the colors were exaggerated: the snow was blindingly white, and so was Sehun's skin, and Chanyeol's hair, in stark contrast with the heavy pink of Sehun's lips. Sparkles sparkled off sparkles, and for some reason, birds sang. The wind wasn't any worse than it usually was, and so it was less of an insulting whip and more a reminder of the physicality of the world around them.

The waiting, too, was a reminder: that the world could still make them wait. "I'm sure he's right there, behind that rock," Sehun said, pulling his shoulders in towards himself, "staring at us. Laughing at us."

"Probably." Jongin tilted his head. "It's what I'd do."

"I don't  _really_  mean cats are your family, Jongin, Jesus," Sehun eyed him, a smile playing at his lips. "I called you catlike a few times and now your ego is unstoppable. I call Yeol a giraffe all the time and he doesn't get all puffed up about it."

"I'm not sure being a giraffe is worth getting puffed up about?" Chanyeol frowned, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his somber, knee-length wool coat. 

"Well anyway, you're not very catlike in that," Sehun said, gesturing to Jongin's coat. It wasn't sleek or wool like the other two, but a cheap green puffy thing bought quickly at the salvation army to save him from freezing to death. Jongin scowled.

"I'd like to see that," Chanyeol said, rocking back on his heels and squinting in the sunlight. "You separated from Sehun by a wall of glass. Just staring at him."

He seemed to realize how awkward what he'd just said was, and the tips of his ears promptly turned even redder than they had been before. "Fuck, ignore me. Sehun, I can't believe you convinced us to do this. Can't we just go see the reptiles or go in the monkey house or something?" It was as close to a whine as his deep voice could get.

"Come onnn." Sehun showed him how to really whine. "Indulge me. I've saved your ass enough times." He ignored Jongin stiffening beside him.

Chanyeol made a frustrated sound that with his voice sounded a little like a roar. It made Jongin laugh, and the Jongin leaned back and drew in a sharp, piercing breath of cold air and roared himself (even though it just sounded like a scream). It felt like a challenge, like a gauntlet thrown down.  _You haven't beaten me yet._

They both looked at Sehun, expecting him to do the same, but he just stared at the glass like his gaze itself could bring the cat out from hiding. Tension defined the slopes of his shoulders. He might as well have been another quivering pine tree with a light dusting of snow across his shoulders for all he moved.

Then, slowly, as if drawn out by an invisible thread by Sehun, a paw emerged from the cave that faced them, dainty and grey, moving with a fluid grace. The three of them watched with captivated expressions as the leopard emerged shadow by shadow in liquid movements, its fur matching Chanyeol's hair in color, rippling across hardened muscle. They stood frozen. It stopped right at the glass, regarding them as a wine taster might regard the latest piece of modern art: utter indifference—a supercilious gaze that flipped the world and placed them into the cage.

Jongin licked his lips, words dying on his tongue as they formed. Only once the leopard had retreated again did he find he could talk. "The origional hustlers," he said quietly. "They didn't care about what anybody thought. They commanded respect."

Sehun replied, "You're not thinking of hustlers. Hustlers live on the clay left from the rich man's boot. You're thinking of the King." Jongin looked at his hand, slender and pink in the cold, holding up a card.

The ring of a phone interrupted the silence the wind afforded them. Chanyeol swore and excused himself swiftly, ducking into the gift store. Sehun wasn't paying attention because he was busy lighting a joint. "Part two," He said, wiggling his eyebrows at Jongin and offering him one of his own.

"Oh, so I still get one of these?" Jongin smiled mildly. "I can't predict you anymore."

"You never could." Sehun smiled back. "Maybe you could, but not really. I was far away long before you caught me—the moments missed each other."

"Bullshit."

"Do you always discredit the opinions of people you want to like you?"

"Not as a rule," Jongin replied. "Have you noticed that we always end up with a third person along with us?"

"Aw, but that's what's best about us," Sehun replied, hunching his shoulders against a gust of cold. "We're not exclusive in the sense that we don't let anyone else in. The idea always seemed petty to me."

"It always seemed beautiful to me. Exclusivity in possession." Jongin moved subtly closer to the indoors, where there was a heater, worrying about Sehun's lack of body fat. "You're still referring to us in the present tense."

"We're not dead, are we?" Sehun blew smoke into Jongin's face. When it cleared, Sehun looked mad. Jongin was startled. Mad—now, that, he hadn't thought to expect at all. "There's so much of me you could never have."

Jongin's heart leapt. " _Let me try._ " They were huddled in the entrance of the aviary now, and the wind provided a barrier on one side, the misted glass a barrier to lean on on the other, and Jongin could see every single one of Sehun's features in startling, beautiful clarity. He was truly an angular, arresting specimen.

"How did I get my scar?" Sehun asked. His voice was quiet and resigned. His trump card. He'd never told Jongin and Jongin had never asked. 

"Easy. You took it so your father didn't have to. He's not exactly a hustler." Jongin let out the smoke from his joint in an angry huff, watching as the smoke got carried away by the wind.

Sehun's mouth hung open. "How the actual  _fuck_  do you know that? Seriously, Jongin, I'm not joking. I—"

"You told Soojung who your father was when you thought I wasn't paying attention. I knew vaguely about him because it was Funky and he gave me what for back in the day too for trespassing. It was either your dad's—what—your dad's eyes or your beauty?—listen, it doesn't matter, what matters is I'm  _always_ paying att—"

"Yes of  _course_  it matters," Sehun gritted through his teeth, dropping his joint and putting it out with the heel of his boot. "That's incredibly personal." And he fled into the Aviary.

Jongin swore under his breath and pushed the door open after Sehun, the suction of the door closing behind him bringing a rush of sticky heat. "Stop moving away, would you? I can only paddle for so long," he said conversationally, like Sehun wasn't in the process of driving him crazy. It was a short pursuit, through a twisting canopy of trees that belonged latitudes and latitudes lower, through all sorts of birdcalls and rushed flapping of wings. 

Finally Jongin found Sehun reclining on a bench beneath the open plaza which allowed birds to mingle and cross paths. His coat rested on the bench next to him and the first two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. He looked completely cool. "You never told me what happened to Soojung," he said, when Jongin rounded the corner.

Jongin shrugged his hideous jacket off with significant effort—it had trouble getting over the casts. He left it on the ground and then went to stand in front of Sehun like he was standing trial. "Soojung didn't want to come. She didn't want to be in the middle of this, because somehow she knew there would be a  _this._  I mean,  _I_ should have known there would be a this. But I'm a dumbass. But that's another discussion. But the point is, she's waiting for us in Orlando."

"Us?" Sehun cocked an eyebrow.

Jongin could still hear her seductive words, promising him Sehun was his. "Us." He watched the effect the word had on Sehun as the man swallowed and shifted his seat. 

"I wish you weren't a hustler," Sehun whispered. "I never know if I should trust what comes out of your mouth."

Jongin opened his mouth to reply, but his mouth was confounding him. He had no way to communicate his dreams to Sehun, or Sehun's place in them. He had no way to communicate respect; Sehun didn't trust it. Sehun was still speaking in a whisper. "Just the way you talk is distracting. Your lips pout out like you're drawing me in and I really didn't think you knew about my scar and all that, and it's really—"

Jongin's lips pressed against his. Respecfully, honestly, and softly, they brought the slightly chapped skin of Sehun's lips slightly toward Jongin before letting them go with the subtlest of sounds, lost in the mild birdcalls that surrounded them. Jongin was on his knees in front of Sehun, his hands, stuck in casts, resting in the bench beside Sehun.

Sehun whimpered. "I don't want another scar, can't you see." The words were wisps that escaped his mouth as he pressed his forehead to Jongin's. "But I'm yours anyway, so I guess it's up to you."

* * *

seahorse's note: it's a long road to reconciliation. reconciliation-ish. the one thing I will say is the next chapter is called Six Weeks of :) (Recovery)

comment!! Thanks to people who comment regularly, or when they've binged. I appreciate it and you keep me going :)


	17. Six Weeks of :) (Recovery)

"Would you stop staring at me?" Sehun whined, moving his shoulders like he was trying to shrug off a blanket. "I feel like I can't get anything done."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Jongin pouted. "Help you? You yelled at me last time." He swung his legs over the bed but stopped when Sehun turned his head from the kitchen and gave him a glare. "See?"

Sehun just rolled his eyes and turned back to stirring the pasta while keeping the other eye on the sauce. It was a simple meal, not much harder than ramen, but it was more than he'd ever done for himself or anyone else before. 

"Where did you grow up?" Jongin asked, changing the subject, but refusing to stop watching Sehun's movements with that intense gaze. 

"Why do you ask?"

"Isn't it a natural thing to know about someone? It feels odd not knowing."

"Feels like the first conversation we ever had," Sehun murmured, hesitantly drawing out a string of spaghetti and running it under the water so he could taste it to see if it was cooked. 

"Does, doesn't it? Chicago, then? You never moved around?"

"I spent a long time in upstate New York after... but I eventually got dragged back, yeah."

"What, by nail and tooth? Your folks bring you back?"

Sehun didn't answer and Jongin didn't push more. Jongin hadn't asked that many questions in two months worth of time they'd been together, and it had only been a few minutes. But his head was crowded—frenzied, with words that didn't  _quite_  fit with the future that stretched before him and Sehun, and it worried him, and as a hustler, he naturally believed words to be the solution. 

They ate the speghetti in bed, cross-legged across from each other. There was a pressure to these first days together, to every moment: a pressure for them to be just as perfect and precious as they always were. A perpetual suprise when they always delivered in glowing perfection. "You know how you always tell me stories, about Japan, and the states with Junmyeon?" Sehun asked. Jongin looked up from watching Sehun's fingers curled around his fork. 

"Mm."

"I got a few of my own. Chanyeol took me on a few jobs. I'm really good at it, Jongin. The hustling part. Do you ever accidentally—" Sehun bit his lip, searching for the words. "See someone's soul, because you're so focused on facades and everything else and not yourself? I don't know how to explain it."

Jongin frowned. "You see people simply, or basically, or... or their motives and everything like that?"

"Well, I walk in. Nini, I know what I'm looking for. If they look nervous, I'm comforting, and if it flusters them, I fluster them more, and if they're unimpressed, I treat them like we're equals and it boosts their self—nini, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?" But Jongin was shaking his head.

"You have to forget all of that, baby, really. It's dangerous. People are much more complicated than that. People can be frustratingly fucking spontaeneous. You can know them inside and out and they can still suprise you. And when you say something but you're already playing their answer in your head, you're not giving that person  _respect._ Imagine if I had done that with you when I first saw you."

That got Sehun's attention, and he raised an eyebrow; a challenge. "If you're about to say something about my sca—"

"Oh come on, of course I'm not going to say anything about your scar. It doesn't make you any less beautiful—" he ignored Sehun's sucked-in breath— "and it was your hood. Etiquette has its place. If I took you to the museam now, I'd pinch you if you wore your hood inside."

"Well, I wouldn't, anyway." Sehun shrugged. "It's not as big of a deal anymore. Being in public in the city after running away used to be a little stressful. And are you sure? A pinch?" A flicker of mischief lit in his eyes. 

Jongin set his empty bowl of pasta aside and reclined backward in the bed, regarding Sehun cooly. "A slap on the ass, then, you twink."

Sehun eyed his bandaged hands. "It'd hurt a lot right now, I think," he teased, happy when that made Jongin chuckle. 

"Hey." Jongin's voice was velvet in the dying light of the window; the electricity had been cut off, Sehun had forgotten to pay it again. "Hustling is for survival. You shouldn't have to." His face was half-hidden, his eyelashes casting slanted shadows across his cheekbones.

Sehun put his bowl down, crawling up the bed so he could see the whole of Jongin's face, pulled into an intense expression, akin to that of a man watching the last, close legs of a horse race, or the path of an arrow towards its target. "I shouldn't have to," he repeated slowly, tasting the words in his mouth. 

Jongin reached for him as he approached, his warm hand curling around Sehun's neck and then travelling down his back to hitch his shirt up a little and let the warm, artificially heated air of the apartment meet Sehun's skin. The motion brought Sehun's body on top of his, so Sehun's breath disturbed his hair and cast the rest of his skin into shadow.

"You should..." Jongin licked his lips, bringing his other hand up to Sehun's hip and then sliding it down Sehun's thigh, the cast rough through Sehun's pajama pants, opening his legs. "...You should have everything without ever needing to ask."

"But—" Sehun started. Jongin leaned forward and nipped at Sehun's lip and the rest of the scentence came out as a puff of air. Jongin fell back against the wall.

"But what do _you_ want?" Sehun asked, holding a hand on Jongin's chest so he couldn't move forward again, instead picking up his glass from the side table and taking a generous sip of bourbon.

Jongin watched him drink silently, and Sehun cursed that look, that unreadable part of Jongin that he loved and loathed. That made him a hustler but also, sometimes, brought him back from the brink of the world the two of them teetered on together.

Sehun did not wait for an answer that would not come. Instead, he leaned forward again and teased Jongin's tongue from between his lips and spun his breath into little knots behind his teeth.

Jongin kissed back, with a small, reverent tremor in his upper lip, yielding to Sehun, pushing pack, pulling for more tongue, more hot breath. Prodding Sehun's heart to beat as fast as it dared.

But he did not go farther. He did not move his mouth to Sehun's neck, or Sehun's peaked nipples beneath his shirt. He did not grind up against Sehun's length pressing against him. When Sehun tried to dip his head down to his favorite place to suck a hickey, Jongin just caught his mouth again, a warning nip playing on his lower lip. He just... _kissed_.

After far, far too long, Sehun shoved off of him, hair wild and eyes blown wide. "You _bastard_ ," he growled, looking down his nose as Jongin caught his breath, passing a tongue over swollen, overused lips. Jongin still didn't say anything, lust and some other type of want kept firmly caged in his expression.

Desperatley, Sehun rutted against his thigh, grinding his jaw at the barely-there pleasure it provided. The rough solidity of Jongin's casts pinned Sehun's hips to his lap as Jongin reached up to kiss him yet again—

And Sehun got up entirely, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door, pressing his back against it like he was attempting to keep out a wild animal. A shuddering breath, stinging on it's way through his sensitive lips.

Jongin was a cat playing with a mouse. No—it was more sinister than that; Jongin was holding back, he was waiting for something, he was building something. Whatever it was, it had Sehun hissing as he took his cock from his pants, wondering if on the other side of the door, Jongin was doing the same. Realizing that with broken thumbs... Jongin couldn't.

It made the first sweep of his thumb across the head a little more delicious.

 

The next night, at 6 sharp, there was a perky knock on the door. Sehun had gone out with Chanyeol and Yoongi, who had stayed in town, that day and had only just gotten home, so he groaned in protest when he had to get up again to unbolt the door.

The groan faded from his lips when he saw the beautiful man waiting on the other side of the door. The man was small and stood with his hands quietly in his suit pockets, his bleached blonde hair looking white under the fluorescent lighting. Sehun had never seen him before in his life.

"Taemin!" Jongin's honeyed voice sounded from behind him, sudden and loud and thrilled, and then Jongin was upon them, upon him, upon Taemin, wrapping him in a bearhug, wearing that eyesmile Sehun had only seen a handful of times. Sehun tried to remember a time when Jongin had summoned this much  _energy_.

Taemin returned the enthusiasm wholeheartedly, his grin widening, if possible, his arms wrapping naturally around Jongin. Sehun clenched his jaw, but waited patiently to be introduced.

Finally, after what felt like an eternal hug, it was Taemin who pushed Jongin off and looked between Jongin and Sehun expectantly. Jongin was so busy staring at Taemin in shocked joy that he had to blink a few times before he could speak.

"Sehun. This is. This is... a really old friend of mine, who I met in Japan. He's practically my brother. Taemin, this is Sehun, my boyfriend." Jongin gave Sehun the title smoothly, like there wasn't anything else that could possibly define Sehun.

Taemin arched a perfect eyebrow. "Do you hustle too?"

"Jongin swept me into it," Sehun replied. Damnit, the man's voice sounded like sweet bells.

"Ah, continuing the cycle." That huge smile again. "I was there when he first really got into the buisness. Glad to see you settled down a bit, nini. I thought you'd never stop roaming." Taemin stepped past them into the apartment, unfazed, apparently, by the size or the disorder of it.

Jongin hurriedly ducked around him to fling an arm around his shoulders. "I met the right person, hyung," he replied fluidly, excitedly. "Why are you in town? I seem to remember something about never setting foot in the western hemisphere."

Taemin scoffed, ruffling Jongin's hair. And Jongin blushed— _blushed_. "I missed you!" The pixie replied. "Whatever did you do with your thumbs? And what's this I hear about you and Soo Man?"

And just like that, they fell into rapid-fire, intimate conversation, the sort of conversation which Sehun couldn't hope to breach. He could only trust Jongin, and the easy grace with which he said boyfriend, and that strange want in his eyes, and believe it to be conversation between long-lost best friends.

Best friends. He'd never had one of those who had been just that. Soojung, perhaps. For a whole—what? Two weeks. But that probably didn't even count.

He went to Chanyeol's. Chanyeol seemed to know who Taemin was, and sympathy simmered in his eyes when he handed Sehun a bong which he said was extra strength. Sehun inhaled deeply, and let Chanyeol's deep voice take him somewhere far, far away. Chanyeol let him stay the night, stretched out on the fraying couch, staring at the individual threads and wondering where they had come from. 

"Are you going to stand there all night like a sentry giraffe?" Sehun asked finally through the smoke, feeling Chanyeol's presence above him. Chanyeol circled back around the couch, sitting on the ground so they were facing each other. 

"You shouldn't feel kicked out of your own apartment. You have to see the problem with that." Anger singed his friend's gentle voice. 

"I could go back if I wanted to. I'm not kicked out. I just want to give them space to catch up. I've heard hours and hours about Japan, and I know that's only a sliver..." Sehun swallowed, overwhelmed and intimidated by how little of Jongin's life he really knew. "A little, tiny sliver of his life," he finished in a softer voice.

"He only knows a tiny sliver of yours," responded Chanyeol seriously. Sehun didn't like it when Chanyeol was serious. It made his face sag a little, made him look older, put bags under his eyes.

Sehun let out a hoarse laugh, disturbing the strings of the sofa that had escaped their stitchings. " _You_ only know a sliver of my life," he replied. "And I don't think he ever expected to see... Taemin... here... ever." He could see the expression imprinted on Jongin's face clearly behind his eyes. Suprised relief.

Chanyeol replied, "I know enough. You should go back tomorrow. He'll want to see you." Chanyeol didn't finish the sentence.  _He better want to see you. He should want to see you._

 _"_ I will," said Sehun quickly, "but I want to..." he remembered the kissing—all that kissing. "...give him some space."  _With that beautiful creature._ Sehun pitied any mark the two of them set their sights on.

Miraculously, Chanyeol didn't say what Sehun expected him to. That space never worked out for couples. That space was an excuse. Instead, he boomed, "We have an idea for a job."

Sehun perked up. "Oh?"

"But we're not sure if Hoody will be there again or not. And it's Yoongi's contact, so we really can't screw it up. But... if you want to." An offer, an invitation, an escape—Sehun siezed it.

"I can handle Hoody."

"Jongin needs to make an appearance."

"Jongin? But his hands..." Sehun's voice wobbled. He hadn't been on a real job with Jongin before. He didn't know how it would go. 

"Hoseok won't care about his hands. We need  _Jongin_ , for his reputation, and because Hoseok has actually mentioned Jongin before. We're working him with cards, but he's origionally a pool player. Who looks up to Jongin." And there it was. Jongin was a mammoth in his industry.

Sehun felt himself nodding. "Would it be enough for Jongin to pick us up? Sweep in, make a little small talk, smooth over any wounds, and then get out?" Sehun frowned at the bong, burnt out and useless. "Maybe we should talk about this in the daytime, when Yoongi is here to yell at me for never having a clear head."

Chanyeol's chuckle was the rumble of a mountain. "Maybe." Anyway, it was a job, and it comforted Sehun to be  _doing_ something again. He found sleep soon enough, hoping that Chanyeol would eventually find his way to his bed and not stay sitting there against the couch, brooding at the fire. Chanyeol was not a born brooder. It wasn't right.

The next morning, Sehun realized there were ten missed calls on his cell phone and chuckled.  _You should have everything,_  he'd said. His apartment was cleaner then he left it when he stamped the snow off his boots at the door and hung up his coat, and it smelled so strongly of Jongin Sehun had to conciously stop himself from smiling too broadly from the coffee invading his nose. 

Jongin and Taemin sat on the small couch, empty plates left on the coffee table, murmuring to one another. There were mere moments for Sehun to observe them candidly before they were interrupted, but in those moments, his heart keened at the light in Jongin's eyes and they way they seemed to already know what the other was going to say. They looked similar, he realized. The same type of agressive, perfect, rounded beauty. 

Then Jongin was up and his arms were circling Sehun as best he could and Jongin was pulling him into a hungry kiss; like they hadn't just kissed last night; and the night before: but nothing else. Still, Sehun smiled into the kiss. He loved being  _near_  Jongin, loved the way he moved and the way his skin captured light and the way their heat interacted. Singularly.

"I missed you last night," Jongin breathed into Sehun's ear—in his bedroom voice.  _Bastard._  

"I've got a job," Sehun replied instead, stepping farther into the apartment and not bothering to lower his voice in front of Taemin. If they were this close, then Jongin could shoulder the burden of making sure Taemin didn't tell anyone about their activities. "From Yoongi. With Chanyeol. And Johoon."

"Cool." Jongin shuffled into the apartment after him—right after him, like he didn't want to lose Sehun's body heat. Sehun thought he could learn to like a clingy Jongin. "Who's the mark?"

"Jung Hoseok."

Jongin stiffened for a moment behind him, then Sehun felt him forcibly relax. A bark of laughter came from the couch. Taemin regarded them both with delight. "Jung Hoseok is  _loaded_. But if you're Oh Sehun, and your parents are Mr. and Ms. Oh that used to work the poker circut... you might very well see them there. You'd basically be robbing them." Taemin studied his face and his smile widened further. "But that doesn't bother you."

Sehun kept his features carefully neutral, but now it was Jongin's turn to laugh, his pointer finger tracing little patterns on his back. "I love it," he intoned, and Sehun knew that he'd always prefer honey to bells, or deep mountains. 

Final plans were made, and two nights later, they all appeared at the upscale townhouse Yoongi had shown them pictures of. The walkway was pretty and everything screamed female presence, so much so that Sehun firmly convinced himself that Hoody  _wouldn't_ be here. Couldn't. She didn't seem like the gardening type.

Then the door opened, and there she was, pretty, open face sweeping over him, thin tongue slipping between her lips, red dress shivering as she stepped back to let their party in.

It wasn't a large gathering, which made the job harder. Sehun worked hard that night, keeping Hoody occupied by learning about what  _she_ was working on. Something that delighted him even further. She was targeting his parents. He gave her no clue that he was related to them at all, but she could see how impressed he was, and it drew more smirks than usual from her that night. 

Chanyeol handled the rest of the guests, really. He was an entertainer at heart, his face glowing, his laugh booming around the room, keeping everyone on a tight leash around him. And Yoongi had Hoseok wrapped around his little finger: bright Hoseok, overflowing with energy, following him around like a puppy. Sehun had to contain his amusement.

The night drew quickly to a close and everything had gone perfectly—except, that is, that Hoody clearly expected something from the night, for allowing this to happen under her nose again. So said her hand on his thigh, and the rasp in his voice, and the innuendos she'd been dropping throughout the night.

He leaned back on the couch as the doorbell rang, returning one in her ear. She licked his and he laughed, wondering if he'd have to fuck her. He wouldn't mind, he really wouldn't, except, now he was...

His eyes flicked to the door, where Jongin leaned casually against the doorframe, perhaps more drop-dead georgous than Sehun had ever seen him in a perfectly tailored suit. Sehun struggled to school his features into bland interest in what Hoody was saying to him. Behind him lurked Taemin, just as stunning, body quiet, eyes soft and inviting. Hoody hadn't noticed them yet, or maybe Sehun was  _just_  pretty enough for her not to care.

But Jongin was boring holes into Sehun's soul. Indeed, Sehun wondered why he wasn't on fire already. He was  _working,_ damnit, he couldn't afford not to have control of his own breathing, or his own expressions. But he was pinned, even as Hoody's hand ventured higher. 

Then Sehun saw Taemin murmur something in Jongin's ear, breaking Jongin's intensity. They both blinked. Jongin looked in suprise at Taemin, then chuckled. And Sehun turned to Hoody and said, "I don't think Hoseok uses that bedroom in the back." 

Her grin was sinful.

"Hoseok, right?" 

The room froze, and now _everyone_  was looking at the door, and the beautiful men who occupied it. No one paid attention to the casts on Jongin's arms, because they were paying attention to the feline beauty of his face.

"Hi!" Hoseok came to the front, his grin a thousad watts, followed by Yoongi, who looked entirely tired out by the entire night, despite the pile of money they'd made.

There was no way for him and Hoody to escape now.  _Bastard._

In minutes, Hoseok was impressed enough that Jongin could sweep Chanyeol, Johoon, Yoongi, Taemin, and Sehun away in a rush of talk and smiles and putting-on of coats. 

The car ride was too full of people and chatter for Sehun and Jongin to get a word in to each other edgewise. Everyone was eventually dropped off at their respective residences, until they stood in front of Sehun's building—the three of them. Awkwardly. 

Jongin put an arm around Taemin's waist and drew him a bit away, leaning down. Whispered something in Taemin's ear. Taemin gave a small, knowing smile. Sehun's stomach twisted; he  _really_ wished he'd gotten away with Hoody now. At least he could've worked some of—he looked down at himself— _this—_ off.

Then, to his suprise, Taemin climbed back into the big van of a cab and Jongin led them up to their apartment. The silence was heavy and viscus. The apartment was warm and musty and seemed to complain that they hadn't been in all night. Seemed to invite them in at the same time.

"What did you tell him?" Sehun ventured.

Jongin was carefully closing the door as best he could. Then he turned to Sehun—and Sehun knew  _that_ look. "I told him that I'd like to fuck my boyfriend to oblivion tonight, and that he'd probably prefer to stay somewhere else."

Sehun's mouth went dry and his blood went somewhere else. Then said, "I need a drink." A barking laugh from Jongin.

The liquor felt good going down. Felt familiar. And then Sehun couldn't spend another second across the room from that beautiful man. The first kiss seared—physically burned, from alcohol and the force of it. And Jongin just pressed his casts against his ass and pressed back with as much force. 

Sehun buried his hands in Jongin's hair—so soft, that hair, always. How did he wash it, with his casts? How did he get on? Jongin's thigh went between his thighs, and Sehun couldn't hold back a moan. "You better not be teasing me again," he growled into Jongin's ear, shoving him back against the door.

"After that stunt with Hoody?" So he  _had_ seen. Jongin's breath's came raggedly as Sehun finally got his mouth on that delicate patch of skin on his neck. "Not a chance.  _Fuck, baby_." His whole neck was bared for Sehun, and Sehun took it greedily, his hands everywhere under Jongin's shirt, abusing his nipples without pause.

It was too much. Sehun wanted it in his ass, wanted to really  _feel_ something around his cock, wanted to feel Jongin's breath  _everywhere_. Jongin backed him up, step by ravenous step, to the bed, but stilled before Sehun could fall back onto it. Sehun locked up, rigid, waiting for the rejection, for the lips to slow down, to pace themselves, but instead, a slim finger brought Sehun's head up to look into Jongin's eyes.

There was that look. He was about to learn what it meant. Seeing him with Hoody had... cracked some resolve. "You are  _mine_ ," Jongin growled, the honey churning into flakes of copper in his voice, "And I am  _yours_. And  _you,"_ he pushed Sehun onto the bed. And took off his shirt. He'd lost a fair amount of weight, and color, and his stomach was pale. There were the two moles, off-center, that Sehun loved so much. Sehun kissed them.

"That's what you've been so intent on?" He asked, as he licked lower, his fingers on Jongin's pants button. "I gave myself to you at the zoo. You and the leopards." If it had been posession he'd been so intent on—so worried about—Sehun had thrown caution to the wind already. He was past worrying about it. Let Jongin claim him, then. He'd claim Jongin, too.

Jongin shuddered at the first stroke of Sehun's finger across his head, but pressed Sehun back, undoing Sehun's own pants and sweeping his pants and boxers off. Sehun arched off the bed at the return of that tongue to his nipples and didn't try to contain his moan as the pads of Jongin's fingers played up the insides of his thighs. Garbled pleas. Garbled thanks that he could finally feel this again.

When Jongin's hot mouth first closed around the head of his cock, Sehun felt the smallest of twinges of pity for the neighbors. He roared, he moaned, he whined, he twisted his fingers in Jongin's hair and tugged him lower, and lower. He'd forced himself to forget how little of a gag reflex Jongin had. How long he could keep Jongin down there, his nose touching that hair, his eyes, watering at the edges, looking up at Sehun filled with love and mischief.

Until Sehun had to let him up or come into his mouth. He didn't want to do that yet. But Jongin went right back to suckling at the head, and using his fingers to tease his nipples, and then—finally—he came up for a long, hot kiss. Sehun tasted himself. Jongin's lips were swollen in that delicious way they only could be when they'd been doing  _this._

With barely a centimeter of distance between their lips, Jongin whispered, "Prep yourself, baby." And then he went right back to kissing along Sehun's neck, to marking it with his own bruises that would last until he put new ones there, grinning against the skin when Sehun had to stop his fumbling with the lube to groan. Right back to tweaking those oversensitive nipples, ghosting those fingers over Sehun's skin that was already on fire. Making sure to keep his casts from scraping him.

Jongin stilled for a moment when Sehun pushed the first, delicious finger in, like he was expierencing it with Sehun, watching Sehun's face as Sehun arched a little and bit his lip. Only going back to worshipping Sehun's body when Sehun whined at the loss of contact. Kissing away the sweat that was beading on Sehun's brow.

He paused again at the second finger, then nipped at the slope of Sehun's pectoral muscle, amplifying the feeling, drawing out a low groan from the depths of Sehun's chest. Ground their unclothed crotches together lightly, making sure even the lightest of contact was felt in tremors that wracked Sehun's body.

He took Sehun's vague whining for being ready, especially when Sehun draped his legs over Jongin's shoulders without Jongin even putting them there. Jongin's face was arresting like this: this was  _his_ Jongin. Sweaty, dark pupils, glowing skin, taught muscles. Incommunicable want. Jongin slid between his thighs for a few languid strokes, and Sehun writhed. Each thrust that was not into him was torture.

His hole clenched for Jongin. He let out a choked breath when he felt the head at his entrence, and a long whimper as Jongin finally pushed in. A low, honey growl ripped from Jongin's throat. And then Jongin was moving, pistoning in absolute grace, an elegant fuck that hit the right spot every single time and ran Sehun's throat raw. 

Jongin didn't need to touch Sehun's cock once. The friction and the fill, and the feel of Jongin's breath, catching and whooshing against his hot skin with each tight thrust. Sehun was soon clenching hard around Jongin, not wanting it to end, wanting to sink on Jongin, wanting... but Jongin just slammed into him harder, bending him practically in half, breath hot on his face. Then, "Baby, oh, baby,  _fuck, I'm going to_ —"

And they came together, in a fever of breath sweat and teeth and muscle, rocking until it was all gone, all the white light and stars of the universe, which were all contained in Jongin's eyes. Sehun clutched him after he pulled out, didn't even let him clean up. Clutched him like he'd claimed him.

It took hima while to catch his breath, for his body to shudder back to something that might listen to his mind. When he finally looked up at the man he was holding, Jongin was smiling. "You didn't do it," he said, and he sounded a little dissapointed.

Sehun frowned. "Do what?"

"Stop in the middle," responded Jongin. "For a drink. Or a hit."

Sehun giggled. Then giggled some more. "I had a fucking wild animal attacking me," he murmured, tracing idle patterns on Jongin's face and through his hair. Jongin practiclally purred beneath him, proving his point. "I don't think you'd have let me if I tried."

In response, Jongin just clutched him closer, until his fingers dug into that perfect skin, hard enough to leave bruises in the morning. _Closerclosercloser. Mineminemine_. That was their mantra now. Their road to Recovery. They had plenty of time; Jongin couldn't hustle, because of his thumbs and because of Soo Man. 

Sehun watched him as is eyelashes, dewey with last few drops of sweat, batted, catching a few stray strands of streetlight from outside. He looked... sweet. Innocent. Especially asleep. Jongin couldn't hustle, and he couldn't wander. Sehun remembered DC, remembered the road, not so long ago, when he'd worried so much about it. Remembered Taemin's off hand comment about Jongin's need to wander.

He didn't worry.  _Closerclosercloser. Mineminemine._  It didn't matter where he was, anymore.

* * *

seahorse's note: there. pff. if y'all were craving smut. or yoongi. or tension. or sehun trying to cook something... hehe. comment and leave kudos! commentandkudos commentandkudos commentandkudos. sigh. I'm so melodramatic.


	18. If Any Else

The shower in Sehun's apartment was tall and he knew just where to turn the knob so the temperature was just less than scalding, and he was going to miss it. Hotel showers were never tall enough for him and Jongin, and they always requred a little bit of getting used to, and none of them had that little light above them that had its own switch, separate from the harsh, bright bathroom lights. When Sehun turned on just the warm shower light, it felt like the shower was his personal cocoon of steamy existence in the universe, where no one could touch him, where no desire could break him, where the water could wash everything away right as it bubbled up.

And he was going to miss it. It was probably unusual to say goodbye to one's shower, but Sehun hadn't done it in high school. He hadn't gone through his last week of classes saying  _this is my last pizza day,_ and,  _this is the last time I have to change for gym._  He hadn't looked back when he'd walked out the front door of his parent's house, because he hadn't wanted to see that look on their faces again. Not one time more than he had to. 

Now, he was saying goodbye to everything. Jongin got his casts off tomorrow, and a melancholy tension had strung itself around them, an encroaching presence named Lee Soo Man. Sehun knew it had more names than that, inside Jongin's head. Money and luxury and respect. He had never told Jongin just how well-off his family had been, although he knew Jongin guessed, but he was suprised that Jongin never asked about it, if only to quench that bright need that always seemed to be burning behind his eyes. When Jongin got his casts off, Soo Man  _would_ approach him again. And then, for better or for worse, the apartment would not be the same.

Sehun was not planning to live here at all anymore. But they had not spoken about it, so at the very least, he knew it would not be the same quiet place that smelled of weed and coffee and cigarettes and toast and dust. They would both probably choke on the word  _home_ for a while, because  _this_ was where they thought of when they said the word. When Jongin could hustle again, he could make money, and this home wouldn't be enough.

So this was last shower; the last time the hot water pounded at the perfect pressure between his shoulder blades, forcing his knotted muscles to unclench. Sehun rolled his head on his shoulders. This was going to be a long shower. Thank god Jongin knew that he liked to be alone when he showered, although the shower had its share of sexual memories as well.

When his lungs were full of steam and he felt as zen as a monk on a mountain, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, a steady stream of cooling water sliding down the back of his neck.  _The last time he would see Jongin like that, stretched out on his back on the bed, arms outstretched, cigarette hanging from between two fingers, like he expects to be crucified._ Jongin said it was a relaxing technique. He tried to teach it to Sehun once, but Sehun had just fallen asleep. It was a beautiful sight, though: Jongin rarely wore a shirt inside anymore, and even though buds were appearing on the trees, the heat was still going full blast, and beads of sweat pooled in his sternum. Lean muscled stretched across his arms. The outline of ribs; the two moles on his stomach. The beginnings of a happy trail leading below his jeans.

"You're staring." A honeyed rumble. Sehun could have sworn his eyes were closed. He felt his mouth quirk up as he remembered a conversation that felt like a lifetime ago, and wondered if this was why people with history never seemed to be able to get away from each other. 

He stared, unapologetically. Jongin raised an eyebrow and rose a little onto his elbow, the light of the (restored) electricity rippling down his body. "Just enjoying the view," replied Sehun mildly, moving over to where his pajamas sat in a heap. "Do I have to get up at any special time tomorrow?"

"What, for my thing? You don't have to take me to that, hon—"

"Of course I do." Sehun frowned. "We're celebrating afterwards. I mean, if you don't want to go out that's fine and don't even  _think_ about trying to hustle, but I at least want to  _be_ there to see that grin of yours when they come off." Sehun came over to the bed and leaned over Jongin, putting his pointer fingers beneath Jongin's eyes and pushing the skin there up, forcing them into little half-moons. "You know, like this."

Jongin's eyes moved into the position Sehun had them as he smiled, and Sehun's heart swelled.  _The last time he smiles like that in this apartment._  "Yeah," he finally said, when Sehun had moved away again, back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "It's at one, so we should be up and fed before we go."

Sehun emerged from the bathroom and nodded, moving to the counter to pour himself a drink. Smiled sourly to himself; this was  _not_ the last time he would pour a drink in this apartment. That would surely be tomorrow morning. Although the closeness of that still felt too intimate to contemplate. Sehun retreated to the bed, poking Jongin in his side until he grudgingly moved over enough to give let Sehun sit against the windowsill. All the lights of the apartment were off now except the one next to the bed on Sehun's side, illuminating the shifting smoke of Jongin's cigarette and the shimmer of the batman logo on Sehun's shirt. 

"Why do you seem sad?" Jongin asked. He did sound calm. His...  _thing_ must have worked.

Sehun took a sip of his drink and slid his eyes towards Jongin, who'd propped his head on a pillow but was otherwise completely horizontal on the bed. "I'm not...  _sad_ , quite."

Jongin's eyes told him to continue.

"I know we won't be here after you get them off. Which I'm totally okay with, babe, I've just been saying goodbye to it all." 

"Goodbye." Jongin seemed to roll the word around in his mouth, test its makeup and fortitude. "Goodbye to a place." He tilted his chin up, his adam's apple threatening to rip from his throat. "I suppose this is as attached to a place as I've ever been. Except... well, that's a suprise. For later." There was a sparkle and a promise there, in Jongin's voice. Sehun let it slide. Jongin had basically just confirmed what he'd known—that after tomorrow, they were wandering. Sehun had become Jongin's, and part of Jongin wandered.

That was okay.

"You've been so fucked by this country," Sehun murmured into his glass, his other hand idly playing in Jongin's hair. The first hints of oil at the base, but Jongin was taking a shower tomorrow morning, before Sehun woke up. "You should have stayed in Japan like Taemin told you to."

Taemin was staying in a hotel now, and usually came to hang out during the day for a few hours while Sehun went to hang out with Chanyeol. When Sehun told Taemin where he went, Taemin smiled graciously, but in private, Jongin giggled and told him that Taemin was very elitist about some things and small-time hustlers either annoyed him with their incompetence or became pet projects. Sehun liked the arrangement very much, even though he was sure he'd never really felt threatened anyway. _Mineminemine._

"Taemin wanted me to stay in Japan because together we ruled Japan," Jongin responded. "And he liked ruling, and he didn't want to set his sights anywhere else. But where else really  _is_ there to set your sights on but America, mm? Especially for a hustler."

"That's absurd. What's so different about America? We have cheaper apartments and more rednecks and it takes longer to drive across the country," Sehun replied. "You've been  _fucked._ You and your capable, competitive, hard-working self just... got caught up in it, once you stopped losing."

"Losing?"

"Soo Man said it himself." Sehun chuckled. "One thing I can say for Kyungsoo, he taught you discipline."

"I forgot about that guy."

"Bullshit."

"You got me. But I still love you. I still love you so so so much more than any—" He was cut off by a kiss that was barely completed because Sehun was chuckling. He grinned sheepishly when Sehun pulled away, then put out his cigarette and wiggled under the light covers, holding them up for Sehun to slide into next to him.

The truth was they'd tucked before Sehun had showered and they probably would again in the morning, and Sehun was tired and very, very drunk at this point, and Jongin had that moon-eyed, soft look about him that made Sehun steel himself for a lot of cuddling. Sure enough, long arms curled around his waist, pulling him towards Jongin so they were both lying on their sides, looking at each other, foreheads pressed together, breaths moving from one mouth to the next.

"Come on," Jongin rumbled, "Talk, say something. I love watching your scar and your face when you talk." 

Sehun opened his mouth, closed it. Jongin's thumb was rubbing circles into the small of his back. He could barely see his lover's face in the dim light of that one lamp, and again they were on a ship in the middle of eternity, just like he had been in on the shower, except this was a warm, solid, soft warmth that massaged the strings of his heart and not the physical ones of his back. But Jongin wanted him to talk.

"If we lived in Paris," he whispered. Licked his lips. "Or... Belgrade. Or Seville or Amsterdam or Bern or Vienna, we might live in an apartment like this. But they wouldn't heat it so damn much, and there would probably be more windows, so that when it got hot in the summer, we could open them all and the breeze would go right through and cool us off." Jongin sighed, his eyelashes fluttering.  _The last time we have a midnight conversation beneath these covers_. Sehun was determined not to cry. "There would be a market around the corner instead of a liquor store, and it would sell fruit and vegetables and cheese. And liquor. If we lived anywhere else, I don't think you'd be so set on what's going to happen tomorrow." Jongin's eyelids were drooping, but Sehun was drunk, so he let his voice, a paper-edged whisper, drift through the air between them still. "If we were anyone else, we might love it, might never want anything else. Might say that talent and love is beautiful and enough."

"If we were anyone else, you'd be locked up in your house with a perfect face, drinking your parent's liquor in your basement with no idea why you were so unhappy, and I would be homeless in Chicago, with nowhere warm to go." So Jongin had been awake. Sehun let his lover's words simmer in the light and relaxed into the alternate vision that Jongin saw. Wherein... what? Sehun hadn't gotten his scar? Wherin they hadn't found each other? " _Baby_." Long arms curled around him, bundling him closer. closer. "If you were anyone else, I wouldn't need you so fucking much. Let's go to sleep now, hm? Maybe he will take us to Paris, and we can visit a market there. Maybe Parisian bourbon tastes different."

He was Soo Man, a spectre who rose up out of the black eternity their pool of night kept spelled away, out of the sound of the city around them, and hung above them as a second bedfellow. Sehun sighed, idly reaching up between them to touch the long scar on his face. It still suprised him when he touched it, because he didn't do it often; the roughness was unsettling, the interruption in the smoothness of his skin unexpected.

He remembered what he'd been thinking about that night, still fully dressed, lounging in bed. Silly, airheaded preoccupations like the cute boy who walked dogs in their neighborhood and whether he wanted to go to Purdue or Colombia or Duke. And then the commotion downstairs, the swell in his chest when he looked at the strangers in the grand foyer and knew they thought he was important. The stab of adrenaline when they grabbed him by his jaw, the deep rumble of their voices, the panic on his mother's face. The press of the cold knife against his brow.

Breakfast the next morning had had its own spectre, right next to Sehun's eye and stretching to his mouth, staring them both in the eye, daring them to hold back their despair. Pulsing, still, in pain. The one thing they had been holding out for in their son, his face, his handsomeness and his self-possession... they could ignore everything else, right?

It hadn't taken long for Sehun to leave, but... he had stopped loving them in the intimate, reliant way a child loves its parents. Of course he would always love them as their memories, had to love them for their existence, but none of that was like Jongin. None of that was like the spectre of Soo Man. Sehun snuggled closer to Jongin.

This was a spectre he could slay.

Only once Jongin's breathing became slow and even did Sehun slowly untangle one hand, reaching behind himself, his arm shining pale in the light, to yank the small chain and cast them off into darkness. _The last time I turn that lamp off_. _The last time I fall asleep to that same rhythm the cars make as they go across the bumps in the road outside the window._ If I was anyone else I wouldn't have this scar. If I was anyone else, Jongin wouldn't need me.

* * *

Taemin really did look very sorry. His hands were stiff in his pockets, his face contorted slightly as he looked at the room where Jongin's casts were falling away to the whirr of what had looked like a very scary machine that cut things.

"It's not that important," he argued to himself. Sehun, lounging next to the door, secure in his dedication to Jongin, simply looked on with detached fascination. "I can cut in, say goodbye to him. Say something to him."

Sehun raised an eyebrow. Taemin had paled considerably in the lobby when a frail old lady with something stuck in both her veins had been wheeled by, and considerably more when they'd passed the emergency room and caught sight of a boy who couldn't have been more than ten clutching a broken arm. "Be my guest," Sehun finally intoned, when Taemin stayed rooted to the spot.

"It's just that they really need me there," Taemin said quickly, wetting his lips, turning to Sehun as if to forestall some unfortunate fate. "I had a few weeks off, but the truth is I run the place, and I—"

"You're not helping anybody bragging about it to me," Sehun replied, his voice flat, opening the door and shoving it a little open, the whirring of the machine getting louder. Taemin's phone buzzed again in his pocket. 

Taemin tried again. "The plane will wait for me. Or I could get another one. Or—" But Sehun was tired of it, and Taemin was being bodily shoved into the room. Jongin looked up quickly from his outstretched arms—one still encased in its familiar bondage, the other half-unwound, smelling profusely, and looking a little... green. Tamin gulped, taking a step back and bumping into Sehun.

"I... It's Tokyo," he said, then had to repeat himself over the sound. The plump, middle-aged doctor didn't look up, seemingly intent on removing Jongin's casts as quickly as possible. "I'll skype you? And call you. I'll call you."

"If you have to leave now, they must be mutinying," Jongin replied, his voice loud, and echoing against the whirr. Taemin was too stiff to reply. Jongin sighed; neither of them could hear it, but Sehun was attuned enough to Jongin to notice his chest collapse in on itself. Jongin's sighs were small and often went unnoticed. Taemin seemed to have noticed, too however. 

"You won't right? I've got you."

"Go." Jongin's eyes were kind beneath his hair, which curled slightly above his eyes, but the kindness slid off Taemin to Sehun behind him, as if to say,  _I have him now._

Taemin reached out a hand as if to comfort Jongin, or somehow shake his hand, but then decided against it, turning and sidling past Sehun back into the hallway. Sehun expected him to just walk away, just like that, his small, muscular back, getting smaller down the clean, cream-colored hallway, but instead he gently took Sehun's arm and pulled him aside.

"Take care of him, yeah?" Taemin turned the full force of his shifting brown eyes onto Sehun, searching him for something. For a long beat, panic surged in Sehun's veins; he was sure that Taemin would not find it. This best friend, this legend, this much beauty—no, a sneer would soon—Taemin nodded. Approval. 

"Yeah." Barely a drop of sound pushed through Sehun's lips, but Taemin clutched it with grateful hunger. It was a simple gesture, and Sehun had no idea why he was so suprised by it, as Taemin's back retreated down the hall, just like he'd seen it doing a few moments ago. It was expected of someone so close to Jongin.

He stayed there outside the hospital room as Jongin's hands were finished and washed, and then Jongin emerged, staring at his hands amorously. When he saw Sehun standing in front of the room, he grinned and wrapped his arms around him, his hands warm and familiar and _missed_. Sehun swallowed. Sorely missed. 

When they separated, Sehun was the first to take Jongin's hand and intertwine their fingers, trying not to squeeze too tightly. They felt a little clammy, and a little looser, less solid than they usually did, but they were Jongin's hands all the same, and Sehun had missed them.

The sun was blindingly bright when they walked out of the hospital, a rare kind of sunlight in Chicago that Sehun knew would have the lake sparkling cheerfully if they could see it. As it was, the sidewalk looked like it might burn their converses as they walked the few blocks to the subway.

"Ready to use them?"

They stopped and turned to look at the Escalade parked in the pickup area. Against it leaned the spectre himself, dressed in, of all things, tweed and white pants, with shining oxfords to top off the look. Raybands obscured his eyes, but Sehun didn't need to see his eyes. His mouth was pulled into a self-satisfied smirk.

Jongin kept his hand in Sehun's and turned slowly. Sehun was sure he was the only one who could feel the tension in Jongin's body, through his shoulders, in the way his lips pressed slightly together. "I have to do rehab, sir."  _Sir._  Sehun wanted to spit on the ground in front of him. 

"What better rehab than pool? We'll have you back in shape in no time."

"They're just thumbs, sir. There's only so much you can do."

"Well." Soo Man sighed indulgently and stood up, opening the back door of the car and motioning to them. "The least I can do is give you a ride home." 

They looked at each other; Sehun shrugged. It was a free ride, and it was getting to be rush hour on  the subway. Better to spend it in air conditioning. So Jongin slid into the leather interior, never losing that essential point of contact with Sehun, and Soo Man climbed into the passenger seat. Jongin leaned forward and murmured their address to the driver. Sehun was suprised; he'd been prepared to do so himself, since he'd been in his fair share of limos when he'd been with his parents. He'd never seen Jongin act comfortably around such things.

"I was thinking Atlantic City first, if the two of you don't mind." Soo Man's voice drifted back to them on a current of air-conditioning. "I know it's a bit sudden, but I committed to something... well, it's a year ago now, that I met you, isn't it, Jongin? I'm sure you'll do splendidly. Then we can go wherever you like. We can even take a break. Let your... thumbs recover." He said it like a joke.

"I've never been to Atlantic City," Jongin replied cooly.

"It's not so bad. Not as fun as it used to be, granted, and I'm sure it's not like... you know, like the movies, but it's something else, still. A good place to go when you're single."

Sehun bristled at the backhanded comment, but then he felt Jongin's hand brush agains the top of his hand, and he suddenly wanted to giggle.  _A good place to go when you're single_ couldn't come close to the  _mineminemine_  cycling through their veins with every pump of their hearts.

It took a while, in the traffic, for them to make their way back to Sehun's apartment, and Soo Man typed his phone number into Jongin's phone, calling himself so he had Jongin's number, too. Smooth control of everything. He'd pick them up in a few hours, after he attended to a few things. Their flight was tonight. They would dine on the boardwalk: apparently, the spring breeze was warm enough on the coast that they didn't need to bring their heavy winter coats.

They didn't rush as they packed; in the time Sehun had known Jongin, he'd never had an excessive amount of clothing, or even a normal amount. Just a few pairs of pants and a few shirts, enough to fit into a small carryon suitcase. A comb for his hair; a toothbrush and toothpaste. It was something Sehun admired about him. He wasn't the sort of wanderer that took his wandering with him.

Then Jongin sat on the couch and Sehun sat between his legs and they watched cartoons and smoked until there was a beep outside the window. They were both fascinated by Jongin's sudden ability to truly touch and grip Sehun, and the whole time, Jongin's fingers were moving up and down Sehun's sides, along his thighs, down the delicate tendons that defined his fingers. Through his hair.

The dinner on the boardwalk really was delicious. Sehun couldn't stop staring at the watch on Soo Man's wrist as they ate. It glinted in the dim mood lights of the restaraunt big but tasteful, pretentious enough not to scream its value to the world, but condescendingly sparkling all the same. It was not an instrument worn to tell time. 

The fish was better than the beans and pasta they lived on for weeks at a time in his apartment, though. And the breeze rolling off the ocean was sweeter and grander than Chicago's that came from the lake. The tinkle of conversation that bounced from person to person strolling through the sunset was more laid-back than the brittle mash of voices in Chicago. Jongin's hand was warm and steady over his as he talked over other contestants in the tournament with Soo Man as Sehun stayed quiet—not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because why ruin something not wholly unbearable? The deep red wine from a fancy province in Italy was sweet and potent and Soo Man didn't spare him a glance when he ordered more of it. Maybe he could be a traveller after all, if this was what it was like.

"And you, Sehun? Which city in the east do you think is the richest?" Soo Man turned to him and Sehun dragged himself back into the conversation.

"New York, of course," he replied quietly. He saw Soo Man's jaw tighten fractionally, but he was not Jongin. He had grown up with people who wore condescendingly sparkling things, and he would not revert to calling them  _sir._

"I'm from Washington, DC, did you know that?" Soo Man asked, turning back towards Jongin like he'd done his duty in talking to the thing Jongin had chosen to bring along.

"I did." Jongin's tone was as steady as it had been all night. He'd barely touched his food.

"Washington, DC is the richest city in the east," Soo Man said, "Because that is where the power lies. Well, the deliciously fucked-up power, that is."

"You clearly haven't been to the proper corner offices in New York, then," cut in Sehun, fighting the urge to smile and failing, feeling his face fall into a smirk. "Deliciously fucked-up power indeed. And here I was assuming you'd learned from the best."

"Oh, I did." Soo Man smiled. "But I don't intend to teach much of anything to either of you. Just get your rich. That's what you want, isn't it?"

A silence.

"Sir, I think we're pretty full. If you wouldn't mind, we'll go to bed now." It was his hustler's voice, and Sehun wondered if Soo Man had spent enough time with Jongin to see that. Not that using the voice implied Jongin was hustling him. Sehun let himself dream for a moment, then let the dream die. Jongin trusted the money in that watch too much. Frankly, so did he. Soo Man wasn't wrong. He would make them rich.

"Right. Fine, then. I'll see you tomorrow morning, son." Soo Man waved them away absently reaching for the check. Jongin rose swiftly—Sehun worried briefly for the feeble folding chair behind him—and stood above Soo Man, placing a hand in front of Soo Man's place. Soo Man looked up at him over his reading glasses.

Jongin, svelte in his best suit, his skin glowing rosily tan, glowered at him. "Do not call me son, sir. I am not your son." 

Soo Man seemed suprised by the severity in Jongin's tone, but before he could respond Jongin was gone, and Sehun quickly behind him, trying not to gloat. If Jongin had been any other hustler, _son_ might have been a compliment. His mood lifted still more as they drifted up to their hotel room, where only two neat squares of the sunken sun were allowed in through the windows, and all was white and clean, starched dimness, and Jongin could take Sehun's jacket off like a proper gentleman and kiss him on the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry he's like that."

Sehun took Jongin's head in his hands, lay it on his shoulder, carded his fingers through that soft hair. "I am too." 

Jongin kissed his neck where it met his lips and it tickled. Sehun slapped him lightly on the cheek and got a chuckle. "Do you need a drink?" Jongin mumbled into his ear, his fingers already wrapping around the hot skin of Sehun's waist under his shirt.

"No," Sehun replied for the first time since he could remember. "This is fine." And he brought Jongin's lips to his in a decadent kiss. A zap of excitement shivered through him, then coalesced at the spot where Jongin's fingers were playing across his back. _He had Jongin's hands back_.

* * *

seahorse's note: two more chapters to go, guys.  have fun enjoying  _what jongin can do with his hands_ , and till next time. 

honestly, as a writer, I feel so... validated when someone comments, even just a... 'nice chapter' or 'fuck Soo Man'. Comment!


	19. What's Your Game

seahorse's note: I've practically lived in that little apartment of Sehun and Jongin's for the past few months like the crazy writer I am. It was based off of places I've stayed before and the actual apartment from the movie  _The Hustler_. I've gotten closer and closer to  _this_ Sehun and  _this_ Jongin until they became people completely separate from the people that live in the real world with those same names.

It seems like none of you have watched  _The Hustler,_ and I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing, because there are spoilers in the movie—I'm following the plot of the movie, just adding things along the way. This chapter is twice as long as normal, and it's rough, if only because I didn't want to go over it again, so—I'm sorry. Anyway, I just wanted to thank everyone for subscribing and commenting, because your enthusiasm makes me so excited to write. Also, I have very little personal experience with the themes dealt with in this fic and the upcoming chapter, and it was a bear of a chapter to write, so... have mercy. Good luck, and without further ado:

* * *

_TAKE CARE OF HIM. - CHANYEOL_

Jongin smiled down at his phone, debating whether to text back or not. He decided not to, figuring the gesture was simply one of worry of a best friend. Introducing Sehun to Chanyeol was one of the things Jongin was most proud of. Their text conversation on his phone was evidence of it, little flurries increasing as Chanyeol and Sehun had become closer and Chanyeol texted to let him know Sehun was bringing home liquor, or Sehun was staying over that night. Interspersed with texts from Jongin making sure Sehun was there, and safe. The occasional picture of the man that kept them together.

The poolroom was beautiful and classic, and unlike the Evans, still appeared in the peak of its operation. Shining oak and starkly green felt and the smell of smoke and oranges and alcohol. A loud din of voices that brought his blood to a sturdy pumping in his veins. He grinned down at Sehun; he couldn't help it. And even at Soo Man, too. "It's a great poolroom." Two sets of eyes watched him closely as his eyes swept over all the pool sticks floating around the room. "It's a great poolroom."

"You already said that," said Sehun.

"Hey—hey, is that Kim Jongin I see? Shit, I haven't seen you in forever, man!" It was a kid, lanky, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a slice into the side of his head—just in his hair, not in his skin. 

"Ten!" Jongin greeted him familiarly. "How've you been, kid?"

"Last I heard you were on probation!" Ten looked up at him with shining eyes, and Jongin realized the boy was carrying a pool stick. He'd always known Ten as a figure to chat with on the fringes of hustling life, but him here meant he was really going for it. An older-brotherly swell of pride rose in his chest.

"Well, I'm off now." Jongin couldn't help grinning. "This is Oh Sehun, and this—"

"Mr. Lee Soo Man, it's a pleasure to meet you," Ten cut in, shaking Soo Man's hand enthusiastically. Soo Man's face barely moved, but his eyes shone in approval.  "Jongin, you've gotta come in and play a little! The guys would be so glad to see you."

Jongin's heart tugged. Faces he hadn't seen in ages, their features blurred by time and the haze of drug-filled nights, beckoned from inside that billiard room. He turned to Sehun, who stood easily, shoulders thrown a little back, hair slicked nicely back. He'd only just started doing that, and Jongin couldn't decide if he liked it better than when it was down or not. "Mind if I go in for a bit?" He looked between Soo Man and Sehun, but Soo Man just shrugged and shooed him in, and Sehun gave a minute nod of encouragement, catching his belt loop to put his lips to Jongin's ear.

"We're room 273. I'll see you up there." And then he melted into the crowd, towards the elevators. Jongin watched his backside as he walked away, appreciating the view, then allowed himself to be tugged into the billiard room. He stuck with Ten long enough to see him play—he was good, but better suited to billiards than the eight-ball Jongin played—and then drifted around the room reacquainting himself with the world he'd sworn off of when Junmyeon had driven off that day after he'd played Kyungsoo. 

He almost missed Timoteo working the corner table, systematically beating every player who decided that because they didn't recognize him, he must be beatable. His hair was platinum blonde now, but he looked happy, and healthy. Jongin wondered if he looked the same. He'd always liked playing against Timoteo, because Timoteo never tried to hold a conversation about anything as obvious as which shot to take or whether they would make it. Instead, he talked about absurd things like ligers and pop stars. Jongin laughed a lot that night—pool was secondary. Pool was secondary to everything, but it was why they had come, to stand around these tables and converse without any sort of overture. He'd missed the heavy feeling in his chest and behind his eyes that told him his body was tired—not a dragging heaviness, but a comforting, blanket-like heaviness that just made his sentences more fluid and his shots more recklessly precise.

He idly wished Taemin could be here, remembering far back, before Junmyeon, when he'd been as green as green gets and he and Taemin had spent their time getting their asses beaten and getting roaring drunk. The time was shrouded in a neon haze for him, and looked a lot like Chanyeol's basement in his memory. But Timoteo missed Taemin also, so they wound up talking a fair amount about him, and what had driven him from Tokyo. The music was quietly jazzy; that sounded like Junmyeon. It was a delicious sweep of the past, and Jongin allowed himself to be borne back, and back, and back, with a contented smile on his face and arm slung around his old friend.

* * *

Soo Man leaned against the doorway to his and Jongin's room, his stocky body silhouetted by the light in the hallway so Sehun couldn't see his face. Sehun watched him and he watched Sehun, and for a moment, Sehun wondered how tension like this could ever break; how anyone could ever  _speak_ in the face of the disdain emanating from Soo Man's body. From the hate he was sure was coming from his. If this was hate. It was a strong word, and an indelicate one. It felt crude to him.

"I can tell you want a war, kid." Soo Man's voice was nothing special; it was an unobtrusive monotone. Sehun stayed very still as Soo Man's hands slid into his pockets and he stepped over the threshold like he was entering his own home. "We could war. We could go at it like Spartans, you versus me. We could do that." Condescension seeped from every word he spoke. "But that wouldn't be good for you. You seem scarred enough to me." Sehun forced himself not to flinch. "And it wouldn't be good for me, since I'm busy managing a real hustler." Soo Man took another step forward. It was a big hotel room—not grand like he sometimes put them up in, but then again, a great many wealthy people were in Atlantic City for the weekend. "Most of all, kid, you know as well as I do, it would be bad for Jongin. Neither of us are here to tear him down, now, are we? We both want what's good for him."

 _We could war._  A declaration of war under the veil of reconciliation, and reconciliation before battle, at that. Sehun's mind scattered a million directions, to the cons he and Soojung used to pull, to what he used to do with Chanyeol, to the absurd stories Yoongi would tell him when he got drunk enough. He wanted to shout in Soo Man's face that he wasn't... _stupid_. Instead, he knew, his face barely moved an inch. "You know what's good for him?"

"I'm his manager, aren't I?"

"What are his thumb exercises?"

"Oh, don't jeer at me with that childish nonsense."

"Fine." Sehun's voice was flat. "What's good for him, if your...  _position_ qualifies you to have a vast knowledge on the subject?"

"To win, of course." Soo Man straightened the already-straight edges of his suit and flipped the light of the hotel room. "Standing in the darkness—absurd." The lights illuminated a room that looked like all the other ones Sehun remembered living in, smoking in, drinking in, fucking in, fighting in. 

"To win," he repeated, letting the word roll through the muggy, still air between them. "For whom, and for what?"

"For—for—" Soo Man sputtered for a moment, put off by the question. Then he turned burning eyes on Sehun. "For what makes the world go round, kid. For what you don't have and for what he wants and  _needs_ with every fiber of his being. You should know that," he sneered, "Seeing as you know his  _being_. He probably sees Ben Franklin's face when he comes. Jesus, he's got to win for the  _money_. And for glory."

"That's only for what." Sehun's voice cut through the room low and deadly quiet, edged with steel. 

"Excuse me?"

"For whom does he  _win_?" Sehun sent the word back to Soo Man on poisoned butterfly wings.

"Well, for me today and tomorrow for himself. He knows that's how it goes." Soo Man shrugged the question off and turned to retreat from the room.

"I don't know if I've ever heard more bullshit in my life. And I've hustled a little bit." Soo Man laughed at him, and Sehun clenched his jaw. He saw the future Soo Man had planned, the neat spider's web he'd spun, the endless endless hotel rooms that looked exactly like this. "He wins for you today and tomorrow doesn't exist. You buy tomorrow. You buy all the tomorrows.1"

Soo Man was shaking his head as he walked towards the door and brought a cigar from somewhere within his suit jacket. "Nobody has to sell 'em, kid." 

Sehun's throat contracted. He hadn't previously thought Soo Man as a hustler exactly, but now he saw that Soo Man was more a crook than any hustler enjoying themselves downstairs. He'd come up here to allow Jongin time to be alone in his world, to reconnect with his old friends—to reassure himself that he wasn't the cling-on following the breadwinner around. Only to discover the fox in the chicken coop. No. He'd known the fox all along.  _Nobody has to sell 'em, kid._

 _"_ Kindly stop calling me ki—"

"Oh, stop acting like you have the license to tell me what to do _whatsoever_ , I'm tired of it," Soo Man snapped. "You're hanging on by your nails, and every second he spends here the closer you get to the edge and it's a matter of time and how much goddamn patience I have for this. You're a horse that finished last, get it?" Soo Man's voice echoed around the room from the doorway, wrapping around him, cutting off his air and making his vision blurry. "Scarred entrails of a windswept, tired city? The kid can have five fucks a night if he wants. All his friends, too, there's plenty to go around. Enjoy my hospitality." He spit out the last word like a challenge and stalked out, leaving Sehun standing in the middle of the hotel room, fighting the telltale burn in his cheeks and at the tips of his ears and behind his eyes that meant he was about to cry from anger and embarrassment.

* * *

Sehun was zoned out again, his cigarette hanging slightly from his mouth, his scar reflected by the mirror that lined one wall of the hotel lobby. Jongin loved catching him like this: candid, probably thinking about some new, ingenious scam. Moments like this made Jongin sure he loved Sehun. He remembered telling Taemin, not so long ago, that he had no idea what love was. That he wouldn't be able to recognize it if it were walking down the street towards him. Now he knew it would have a long, silvery scar on the side of its face, and dark, serious eyes, and blond, messy hair, and an impossibly tiny waist, and an amazing ass.

"I made a friendly buck or two at roulette," Jongin said by way of announcing his presence, sitting down between Soo Man and Sehun. "And also—Sehun, you'll be so proud—a couple hundred at cards—cards! There's so much action here, I can taste it, I can feel it in the air." 

Sehun smiled at him indulgently. "No one for me to hustle, though."

Jongin shrugged. "You could still play, if you wan—" he looked at Soo Man, who was looking down at him over his glasses, and swallowed his words. Instead, he said: "Here, hold what I made, how about."

Sehun plucked the money from his hand, folding it and looking at it with a detached interest. "Why me?"

Jongin shrugged again, a languid pulling upward of his shoulders without really a  _down_. "For luck I guess. Money comes and goes faster than shooting stars in this place. What're you drinking?"

"Kamikaze."

Jongin took his drink and took a sharp sip, giving a little grim-grimace at the alcohol content of it. "So?" he asked, leaning back in his seat, looking reluctantly away from Sehun's lovely face to the un-lovely face of his new manager. "What're we here for? It can't be for me to just gallivant around—I can't be risking my thumbs for something like that."

"No, although I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself," replied Soo Man smoothly. "His name is Byun Baekhyun. Billionaire playboy who likes to play hustlers for shits and giggles. He's got a pool table in his pool house."

Jongin asked, "Is he any good?"

"Well I don't know, haven't seen him play before. I assume so." Jongin raised an eyebrow at the prospect.

"He's known for throwing absolutely wild parties. You might know a fraction of the clientele but the rest are people just like you, wanderers of the world who love delightful things like adrenaline and money and champagne and the smell of new leather. _Wild._ "

"When do we go to him? Do I make the proposition or you? Do you know him well enough that he'll..." Jongin trailed off. Soo Man was nodding, keeping eye contact, and this conversation was like a secret language, and memories of his days with Junmyeon were knocking him dizzy.

"Oh, he'll come to us. He's probably heard about you. Got scammed by some guy named Park Chanyeol a few years back and he's had his claws sunk into the scene ever since. Yes, he'll come to us." Soo Man seemed entirely confident in this fact, but Jongin and Sehun had shared a sharp look at Chanyeol's name. Must have been how Chanyeol made his name, then. 

"If neither of you mind, I think I'll stay at the hotel," Sehun murmured, his voice smooth and hard to hear in the close din of the lobby. Everything in the hotel and in Atlantic City this time of spring was hustling and bustling, Jongin thought. Heavy on the  _hustling._  It was intoxicating. He shrugged again, reasoning that Sehun was probably just tired. Or figured Jongin would be working. 

"Not coming to Baekhyun's party?" Soo Man raised his eyebrows, and his nose scrunched a little bit, like a wolf scenting its prey. Sehun just gazed coolly back at Soo Man, and Jongin looked between them, clueless. Why in the world would Soo Man  _care_? Soo Man continued, "It's only—I know you like things like that, Jongin. It's exciting to be around that. Some men are like that, and that's the way it is. Some women, too."

"I'm one of a kind," replied Sehun blandly, the corner of his mouth tugging blithely upwards. " _Some men_ can suck my dick, if they can fight this one off." It was an amusing response, and Jongin threw back his head and laughed. When he looked at Sehun again, a slight flush had crept up on his cheeks and he looked bashful but proud. Jongin wondered if it would be obnoxious to kiss him right there, in public.

"There he is," Soo Man said out of the corner of his mouth. Through the crowd wove a curvy, pixie-faced man with raven-black hair, sharply cut black dress pants, shining dress shoes, and a very, very bubblegum pink shirt.

"I have not seen you in a very long time, you old vixen," he said as he got within earshot of their table, his voice highish but pleasant—the kind of voice that had you leaning in to hear more. "Why choose you to show your face here again? And who is  _this_?"

"This is—" Soo Man cut himself off, seeing who Baekhyun was looking at. It was not Jongin, it was Sehun. Baekhyun's tongue, small and wet and pink, darted out of his mouth to wet his lips. 

"A pleasure to make your aquaintance," Baekhyun said, ignoring Sehun and offering a delicate hand to Sehun to shake. Sehun smiled brightly and took it, returning Baekhyun's gaze through his lashes.

"Yours as well," Sehun murmured. 

"As I was saying," Soo Man continued, clearly uncomfortable, "This is Kim Jongin." Then, grudgingly, "And his boyfriend, Oh Sehun."

"I see," said Baekhyun, a finger coming up to his mouth. "Jongin's boyfriend Sehun, not the other way around. You must be the hustler, then, Jongin. You lucky bastard, you."

"Don't I know it." Jongin could see clear as day already what sort of parties Byun Baekhyun threw and what sort of people went to them. He could also see how Chanyeol had gotten to him as a cool trickle of jealousy burbled down his spine, watching Sehun transition smoothly from the Sehun he knew into hustler Sehun. The one he'd only seen a few times before, often with someone wrapped around him with their hand too close to his crotch. "You play pool, then?"

Baekhyun's face lit up. "I dabble. I'm not sure I could beat you, though."

"Nah, you could beat him," replied Soo Man. Jongin looked at him sharply.

"I can hold my own," he said mildly. Baekhyun just nodded. "How much?" That got the man blinking. 

"Lee Soo Man," Baekhun murmured, "I believe your hustler is trying to proposition me." 

Soo Man, wisely, stayed silent, allowing Jongin to take point on the exchange. Jongin took it as a win and hammered out the finer details rather quickly, hyperaware of the absurdly flirtatious gaze Sehun insisted on raking over the millionaire. Finally, Baekhyun sighed, looking around the lobby and then down at his phone. "I have an appointment," he said with a pout. "And if I stay any longer, your boyfriend will get me hard with just his eyes and that would be awkward for everyone. You're coming to the party, right?" Baekhyun spoke directly to Sehun again.

"Of course," replied Sehun smoothly, and that was the end of that. Jongin sighed quietly as he watched Baekhyun's pink back retreat into the crowd and then through the double doors into the ballroom that seemed always to be teeming with people. At least he would get to see Sehun all cleaned up—maybe he'd even let Jongin tie his bowtie. Jongin wondered if there was anywhere good in Atlantic City to buy a bowtie. He'd have to ask Timoteo.

* * *

It was indubitably a mansion, turreted and carefully manicured, and as Sehun approached it he suddenly felt as if he were living inside the Great Gatsby, and all the world was tumbling towards this place. Music boomed from somewhere deep in the foundation, quiet but there, and sharp gentlemen in uniforms held trays of full champagne flutes and small crab sandwiches in every room. 

Each room was different, but he could barely tell, mostly because he was more concentrated on the people, whom, despite the mammoth size of the house, seemed determined to occupy every square inch of space in the house. Actors and actresses fought and shoved aside cab drivers to get to the fresh air, tax collectors shared drinks with tax evaders, and a man with a scar even bigger than Sehun's running across his nose like Tyrion's in Game of Thrones wandered around with a little girl on his shoulders, her wide blue eyes taking everything and everyone in. " _A circus_ ," Jongin muttered in his ear as they approached from the east lawn, which might have been used as a football field on slow days. Sehun nodded in agreement.

Soo Man met them at the door, and then a few of Soo Man's friends, and by the third introduction Sehun was past sure that his only goal that night was to get so roaring drunk that  _just this once_ he wouldn't remember the night. He'd only come for the job—as an appetizing _in_ for Jongin to play his game. It was ironic that his scar had been intended to destroy his beauty and it hadn't even done that, apparently. He lost Jongin after a few minutes, bidding adieu with a brush on the lips and a squeeze of his ass.

It didn't take long before he was stumbling. Everyone was a stranger and that was strange enough, but their faces seemed to grow longer as the sun set, nefarious shadows clinging to every cheekbone and below every eye, light twinkling dangerously from the jewelry hanging low on the low-cut dresses of the blondes—they were all  _blondes._ Sehun missed Soojung. He missed the way she could look at him and he'd feel calm, the way they could make fun of someone with a glance, the way he seemed to think of absolutely nothing when they were together.

His shoes were confusing because they were too shiny, just like the floor, and he got them confused sometimes. The rough tweed of a man's jacket looked like the harsh tumbleweed in his backyard in New York. He felt like he was drowning in a small platinum blonde's blue silk dress, watching with his mouth open, fascinated, as the fabric swamped her as she walked, distressed that she'd certainly be bogged down eternally to the same place by the ill-intended folds.

There, a table. Lean into it. Exchange your glass for a new one; tip it into your throat. Sehun coached himself through the steps, his eyes opening and closing more slowly than they usually did. Maybe Soojung had put glue on them as a prank. A smooth black suit that looked like dark chocolate. Black chocolate—Sehun wondered if that existed. He leaned a little forward to taste it, then at the last moment decided black chocolate wouldn't taste every good. "Oh, come here, now." That was a voice that he  _hated._

Sehun allowed himself to be helped to the perimeter of the room and propped against a solid, cold body. The dark chocolate was attached to Soo Man, who looked as fresh as he had when they'd greeted him at the door hours ago. Had it been hours? Sehun raised his wrist to find that he wasn't wearing a watch, and pouted.

Hot breath tickled his ear. " _You're a washed-up faggot, Sehun_ ," the monotone voice murmured seductively. "You can't even get through a party without getting drunk and horny. That's what you're good for, isn't it? That's what you're here for? I'll give you twenty for a blowjob in the bathroom."

An enraged wail ripped from Sehun's throat, and for a moment, the bubble of the party around them fell away as eyes widened a little uncomfortably. Some looked at them and some pointedly did not in that American mentality of not particularly caring about other's problems, but of being annoyed at the pesky things for ruining the fun. But Sehun was beyond reason or admonishment by a hard  _stare_ , and he turned as quickly as his alcohol-drenched veins would allow him, throwing what was left of his drink squarely in Soo Man's face.

Soo Man looked extremely pleased with himself. If Sehun had cared or noticed, he would have realized he'd done the solid opposite of his one job tonight, that Baekhyun was sure to hear about this, and that Sehun was probably going to be branded an unstable, emotional drunkard. But Sehun, hysterical, was shouting, or sobbing, or something in-between at him, until strong, solid arms wrapped around him and a sturdy chest appeared behind him, and then a voice that had him at least quieting down a lot was whispering sweet nothings encouragingly in his ear.  _let's go home, let's get out of here, come on, let's just get you home, come on babe, oh sweetheart..._

* * *

Jongin walked back to the mansion suprised that his excitement for the night hadn't abated. He hadn't had a real game in almost two months, an he felt like he was starving, so with each step he took away from Sehun where he slept in the hotel, he assured himself that Sehun was safe, that Sehun was showered and fed and Sehun could take care of himself and Sehun would be fine. He fully intended to find out what had happened to make him so distressed, because it was hard enough to get the Sehun he knew to smile or frown, much less... Jongin pushed that sound from his mind. 

His phone buzzed, and he took it out, suprised. It wasn't that late in the night—quarter till ten, perhaps, but not many people had his number. His stomach twisted when he saw the text.

_TAKE CARE OF HIM, NINI <3 ~ SOOJUNGIE_

Jongin wondered what it would be like to have two best friends as protective as Sehun's were. Jongin had the one, and maybe once upon a time Timoteo had been like that, but these two... their dedication to Sehun rivaled his own. At least if anything happened to him Sehun would have somewhere to go, someone to comfort him. Jongin clenched his jaw bitterly. It didn't matter if  _he_ had anyone. He had hustling, and his dreams, which had accompanied him since he'd learned what hustling was.

Then Baekhyun was coming towards him in the crowd, now changed into suspiciously tight white skinny jeans and a blue silk shirt with the first few buttons undone to show off his collarbones. He was pouting, looping his arm through Jongin's. "I was looking for your boyfriend, but I couldn't find him," he whined. "Heard he had some kind of meltdown. I hope everything is okay."

Jongin bristled. This was his mark. "Everything is perfect. Sehun was looking for you, too, then got mad when he couldn't find you. Decided to go back to the hotel. And before you ask—no, you can't follow him." Baekhyun smiled. There, crisis averted. Jongin smoothly caught Soo Man's eye and beckoned him towards the back door, where Baekhyun was leading them. They strolled through a garden that Jongin thought was pretty but not much else, then over the stone deck next to the pool, eventually arriving at the pool house, which was merely a smaller version of the mansion, and virtually deserted but for the staff.

In the middle of the first room they entered was a large table that Jongin recognized well, a bloodred tarp thrown over it to keep off nonexistent dust. Jongin's blood jumped just at the sight of it. "That's what you came for, right?" Baekhyun was watching his face hungrily. Jongin just smiled down at him, nodded.

"Great. Drink?" Baekhyun wandered over to the bar and began to peer at the various bottles there. "Although it might bet a better idea to ask one of the staff. I know very little myself."

Jongin was barely listening, already down by the table, whisking off the tarp and throwing it to the side. His stomach sank. He stared hard at the table, stared at it some more, like if he looked at it hard enough he could  _make_ baskets appear in its sides. But the table remained notable without the baskets he was so used to shooting all those balls into with a perfect shot. Instead, the sides of the table were smooth, uninterrupted felt. A billiard table. 

Jongin and Soo Man whirled on Baekhyun at the same time with twin faces of indignance. " _Billiards?"_  Soo Man growled. "We told you we came to play eight ball. Come on, we're going. I wasn't aware this was a waste of time."

"Well, wait just a minute there." Jongin looked at the table, then at Baekhyun. Put his hands in the pockets of his pants. Looked at Soo Man. "I can play billiards."

Soo Man let out a choked laugh. "I bet you've never played billiards in your life."

"I know what I'm doing," Jongin lied smoothly. It was true that he knew the basic rules of the game, different as they were from eight-ball, and it couldn't be that different, could it? It was played with cues, on felt. Where he was comfortable.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Baekhyun cut in with a leonine smile. "If you don't want to play, I'd understand. But I encourage you to see what you're made of. We can start the betting small—say, a hundred a game?"

Soo Man looked one last time to Jongin for confirmation that Jongin could, in fact, do this, and Jongin nodded. Baekhyun clapped his hands and went to get his cue. And like that, Jongin began to burn through Soo Man's money, a hundred dollars at a time. First he was simply getting a feel of the rules, then he was getting a feel for the skill. Then he was watching Baekhyun. He didn't watch the clock, because this was work. Half the time he expected to see Junmyeon sitting there quietly, offering him another drink or a cigarette.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" Baekhyun would ask, and Jongin would shake his head.

"I'm fine, thanks." and feel with a twang the approval coming from Soo Man's corner of the room. 

He was startled out of the haze by the sight of a familiar slim figure in the doorway, backlit by the light of the house proper, still lit and pulsing in its revels even though it had to be after midnight. He blinked, feeling yanked into another world, as Sehun came forward, looking more put together than he had when Jongin had last seen him, though deep purple shadows betrayed him below his eyes. He avoided eye contact with Soo Man and Baekhyun and instead made a beeline for Jongin. Jongin strode to him quickly, leaning his cue against the table.

"Babe, what's up?" His hand was already on Sehun's hip, he was already standing as close to Sehun as could be proper, and he whispered in the intimate tone that was meant for one other person and one other person only. 

"Nothing. I came to see you play." Sehun smiled, and he seemed... impenetrable. Jongin wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

"Do you need anything?"

Sehun looked around the room carefully. "Win." And Jongin's heart cracked a little at that single command. He nodded, squeezed Sehun's hip, then turned back to Baekhyun, who was waiting.

And continued to lose Soo Man's money, until Soo Man was clearly seething under his cool veneer. 

"I'll beat him next game," Jongin heard himself say, and knew it sounded desperate, but didn't care. 

"How're your hands?" Baekhyun was lounging by the bar, his tie loose, looking slightly drunk, not listening to their conversation. Jongin flexed them. His thumbs  _were_ sore.

"Rack 'em, we're going home." No argument.

"Oh, come on, one more game. Sir." Jongin's voice had lowered to a whine; he needed more money, he needed the money for the next game because he knew he could win. He could see Sehun's face, see Kyungsoo's face before him walking into that bathroom, washing his face, pulling himself together, and winning back all he'd lost. All he needed was one game to turn it around.  _One._ He felt Sehun's eyes burning into the back of his head, watching him closely, but he didn't care.  _He needed the money._

So he fell to his knees. Discreetly as possible, onto the steps next to where Soo Man was sitting on his stool, immovable. Soo Man looked down at him, unimpressed, but then Jongin felt a tug at his sleeve. "Jongin, don't beg. Nini, nini please don't get on your knees." Sehun's voice was raw and so pained that Jongin looked up at him in suprise. Blood pumped past his ears in a crowded rush to get to and from his heart. "Nini, don't beg him. He's a two-bit thief, nini, you'll... nini, please. You don't owe him a thing in the world." The tugging got more insistent, and finally Jongin whirled on Sehun, heat rising in his cheeks.

For a moment everything trembled on a precipice, and then it tipped, in favor of the intoxication of the night.

"Oh, go back to the hotel, won't you? I've got work to finish up! I've  _got to finish this!_ " It was a side of him he'd never truly let loose before, something he'd buried deep whilst he'd been playing Kyungsoo. Flaming determination. And right now, Sehun was annoying. That was okay, he was sure. He was being clouded by work like sharks went crazy around blood, and he'd be calm later and Sehun would comfort him and say it was all okay, and do that thing where he drew his thumb along Jongin's spine so it relaxed instantly.

Sehun flinched away from him like he'd been slapped, then hesitated, as if he expected Jongin to take something back, or to explode or melt or turn to dust. Jongin did none of those things. So slowly, the hustler's mask settled over Sehun's face again and he turned towards the cicada-filled nighttime and the winding down party beyond. 

Jongin turned back towards Soo Man, and something had changed in Soo Man's demeanor. He looked... like he had already won something. And there, in his palm, was the money for the next game. Baekhyun's eyes were hazy with weed and alcohol but he seemed to be enjoying himself, and to be bearing the admittedly sloppy job with fortitude.

Jongin looked down at the money and took a deep breath, wrapping his fingers around the cue slowly. It felt solid in his hand, and he could feel its grain like an extension if himself. The balls began to go where he told them to, just like they did in eight-ball, and he felt like the rules were a tool instead of an obstacle. Money began to filter back into Soo Man's pockets.

* * *

"How much did we make tonight?"

"Twelve thousand." Soo Man's voice was gruff and tired and didn't sound as triumphant as Jongin thought he might have.

"Good." Jongin ran a finger through hair, suprised when his hand came back oily. His hair was never oily. "It'll be the last job we do together." Baekhyun had slunk off back towards the main house, giving Jongin a mournful pat on the back, and they were alone in the pool house. 

Soo Man made an exasperated sound. “What’s your game, Jongin?” Soo Man asked, leaning forward in his chair. Jongin realized he hadn’t shaved recently. “Is it pool, because I’m beginning to question even that fundamental truth. Is it love? Is it poker? Tell me, Jongin! Is it booze and drugs and sex or is it the cue? You just beat this guy like I've been waiting for you to beat someone for forever, it's been torture, but it's been worth it, so I'd really like an answer here."

“Sir, what’s  _your_ game?” Jongin replied. “Because it seems to me your game is money. No, don’t give me that look, don’t look at me like it’s a good thing. Your game is manipulating and using problematic people for your own sick fucking enjoyment. You run us like a company, but you’re off your fucking head.”

"I didn't know you felt that way." Soo Man's words were clipped. "But you're tired. It's been a long night. Let's get back."

"You go ahead. I'll walk." Jongin's voice was quiet now, his throat sore, his feet tired from standing. His thumbs ached. Everything seemed out of sorts and his heart screamed at him to go to Sehun, but he needed some time to work the night out of his system. It had gotten to him, in a way hustling never had. He didn't feel the  _right kind of tired._

Soo Man looked like he wanted to argue more, then decided against it. "All right, son," he agreed, dropping a hundred-dollar tip at the bar for the exhausted-looking waiter and then disappearing into one of the taxis somehow still lined up in the driveway. Jongin didn't have the heart to yell at him about the 'son' thing again. A breath of air pressed itself from Jongin's chest as he watched the last person in the room take the tip and then clean up half-heartedly. 

And then he began to walk, foot against pavement until all that existed was the air moving in and out of his lungs. Smoked the whole way, plowing through his cigarette pack, figuring he'd earned enough tonight to pay for as many more as he felt the need for. He looked at the clock before he left, and when the hotel rose up before him sooner than he wanted, he saw that more than an hour had passed since he'd set out from the mansion on the beach.

The woman behind the counter flicked her eyes up at him from her magazine lazily, not even perking up at the sight of him like women usually did. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, get met the key to my room, my room..." Jongin searched back into the recesses of his mind for his room number. "Two seventy-three."

Now she perked up, blinking a few times, a dark curl of hair popping from the classy messy bun tied behind her head. "And who are you, now?"

"What do you mean, who am I?" Jongin's voice sounded scratchy even to himself, but he figured since the sun was about to rise, he'd been up long enough to be a little crabby. "That's my room, give me the key!" he insisted.

She paused another moment, then shrugged, as if deciding that whatever it was wasn't her business, and passed the small keycard across the counter.

* * *

The smile faded from Sehun's face when he opened the door and saw that it wasn't Jongin. It dropped into a frown as his eyes traveled over Soo Man, looking more smug than he ever had before, not a second of the extended night he'd had showing on his face. He walked right into the hotel room, past Sehun, like he owned it, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

"Sehun." His voice had the high note of gloating. "Oh Sehun, Jongin's dragged-along fucktoy. Oh Sehun, my dear." He turned, standing in the middle of the apartment, new bills shining crisply in his hand.

"Where is Jongin?" Sehun asked quietly. Soo Man didn't reply. Sehun wiped his suddenly-sweaty hands on his pants, then felt the need to sit down. The bed was too soft, and he sank too much into it. "Jongin isn't coming." He'd been expecting it, watching the storm on the horizon roll closer in all its grand undeniability. Ever since that small crack in the house of cards he'd built for the two of them, ever since he'd heard the  _mineminemine_  go quiet on the other side of the line, even for a second—he'd been expecting that affirming gaze from Soo Man. 

"He told me to have you gone on the seven o'clock train, give you some money." Soo Man spoke quietly, like he was trying to find some shred of sympathy within himself.

"Well go ahead, then," replied Sehun bitterly, leaning back on the bed, nodding beside him. "Leave it on the bed. Isn't that how it's done?"  _Isn't that how you pay a whore?_

Soo Man had the gall to smirk and lay the bills on the bed next to Sehun carefully, like the bed or the bills might break. "Yes, I suppose it is," he muttered.

Sehun watched through his eyelashes as Soo Man wandered back towards the door. Something morbid inside him was blooming and wanted more, wanted to prod this awful thing and see how far it would go. "How does it feel?" he asked. "Does it still have the same shine it had the first time you..." he rolled his tongue around in his mouth. " _Won_?"

Soo Man turned towards him. "I'm going to teach him how to do it too, you know. Jongin. He's going to be just as good at it as I am. Although—" he took a sharp breath in. "I do wonder what he saw in  _you._ How you kept those sharp, kinky little claws in him for so long." Soo Man had changed his course and was walking straight towards him. "You were more dangerous than I thought you were. Byun Baekhyun is... well, he's the most intoxicating kind of job there is." Soo Man loomed above him now, so that Sehun had to tilt his chin way up to look at the glint in Soo Man's glasses that hid his eyes. Rough fingertips scraped from the bottom of his ear and down his jaw until they were just under his chin, pulling his face up, up, closer to those glasses until Sehun screwed his eyes shut, letting his body go limp as Soo Man's cracked lips sucked something resembling a kiss from him.

It lasted one horrible eternity.

Soo Man dropped him like a dead fish, and when Sehun opened his eyes, there was a sneer on his face. "As of tonight, you're not worth the dirt on Jongin's shoe." And he walked out the door, shutting it with suprising care.

Sehun's eyes wandered to the minibar.

* * *

Jongin got to his room thinking about the bed and the man waiting in it. The door swept open on oiled hinges, and Jongin cringed as he took his first step forward, his shoes sinking too deep into the carpet on worn-thin soles. It was too bright; all the lights were on and there were...  _people_  in the room. 

Police people.

Just a few, standing together in a corner, in somber suits, with bulges inside their jackets that he knew from experience were guns. He felt his eyebrow twitch. Cops made him nervous. 

"Excuse me?" he asked, forcing his tired voice into something resembling politeness.

The tall one turned to him, deep lines cut in his cheeks, his eyes a mournful blue. "You must be Kim Jongin."

Jongin stiffened at his name. "What's going on?"  _Where is Sehun?_ The question pounded in his fingertips, into his ears, and behind his eyes.  _Where is Sehun? Where is Sehun? Where is Sehun?_

"What is the nature of your relationship to Oh Sehun, Mr. Kim?"

"Where is Sehun?"

"Mr. Kim, I'd like to ask you again—"

" _Where. Is. Sehun?"_

"Mr. Kim, may we ask you a few—"

"Where is Sehun?" Jongin was charging through the room now, his gaze having swept the room and found no sign of his heart in pale, lithe form. The bathroom. His vision narrowed. "Where is Sehun, I swear to fucking Jesus in hell of fucking motherfucking christ—"

He stopped, almost tripping over himself as the tips of his shoes were prevented from moving at all forward as he stared at the bathroom. It was still dark outside, but the bugs had retreated for the night and dew clung to the windows. The bathroom, unlike the hotel room outside, was dim, only the two lights around the mirror, meant for moodlighting, left on. It looked like the bathroom in any other upscale hotel, a double-sink vanity on one side, toilet on the other, and had cold tan tile stretching along the floor in orderly diamonds, pretty grey caulk clines stretching from one side of the rectangle to the other. And at the end of the bathroom, a standalone bathtub, probably cheaper than it looked, but impressive nonetheless.

Folded into the bathtub, like he didn't want to intrude on the tranquility of the rest of the room, lay his heart, his  _mine._ The taste of his name in Jongin's mind was sweeter than anything he could ever eat, sweeter than any cake or swedish fish or pure sugar.  _Oh Sehun._ He looked pale, unnaturally pale, even for him, his lips drawn thinly together, his black t-shirt laying sadly against his chest. His skinny jeans looked like they were pinching at the skin of his thighs, and Jongin's chest contracted; he wanted to peel them away and let Sehun's legs  _breathe_.

But Sehun's eyes were closed. His dark lashes brushed his pale cheeks like dark silhouettes against a deathly sunset. And his chest, where his shirt hung so forlornly—it wasn't moving.

"Sehun?" Jongin's voice was smaller than it had ever been, and the rumble he was used to in his chest was gone, replaced by a high, thin burble. His shoes scuffed on the tile on their way in—he was used to being graceful, too, but apparently that had evaporated as well. Another stumble had him on his knees, had a high ringing begin tuning up in the depths of his ears. The bathtub rose before him a behemoth he could never hope to breach, never begin to climb, so he just sat there on his knees, watching Sehun not breathe and feeling himself begin to tremble.

"Oh, who in fuck's name let him in there?" A voice, distant but coming closer; Jongin remembered something about sound waves, and how shorter ones meant closer. The door to the bathroom banged open and he felt another presence pulsing there behind him, cautious but hurried. "Now Jongin, come on out and we'll talk about everything—"

"Did you kill him?" The rumble was still gone, and Jongin was a ten-year-old boy again. 

"Did I kill him, Jesus fuck, Jongin, of course I didn't  _kill him, I—"_

" _Get out! Get out Get out hewasgettingbettergetoutgetoutgetoutgetout get OUT!"_ Jongin was scrambling across the tile, his limbs marionette strings lashing out at the disgusting creature whose polished shoes dotted the floor as they tried to dance around him, and then his fist connected him with something soft and there was a howl but it was all a haze and he was already scrambling back towards the bathtub, his back connecting to a cold wall, that was probably tile too, it was all tile too, so perfect, just like Sehun was perfect, he heard a shout in the periphery of his hearing something like  _ah leave him alone_ and then he curled his knees up towards his chest and leaned against the bathtub and let himself shake and he wasn't sure if he was crying out or maybe he was whimpering or maybe he wasn't making a sound at all.

It had felt like a mistake the moment it had escaped his mouth. And—his heart was playing games with him, running around a heart attack without really having one. He couldn't look now. He'd looked once, and once was enough. He looked, instead, at the window, with the dew still hanging on it like an army of leeches, and the sky as the sun made its calm, majestic ascent into the sky, painting the world in beautiful peach that had him hypnotized. He didn't even know if it was an accident or if it had been on purpose. He felt his face numb.  _He didn't even know._

If his own boyfriend had wanted to kill himself or if he had simply lost the ability to control whichever addiction it was, he  _didn't even know._

"I will never smile like that again," he vowed, feeling the truth of it slam into being as the words left his lips. _Two tender fingers, just there below his eyes. 'You know, like this.'_ That smoke-filled apartment might as well not exist anymore.

There was so much he didn't know. He felt it as a gaping hole in the universe, that information that he never asked because somehow, he never understood that they didn't have absolutely forever. It had always felt like absolutely forever, when those dark eyes were on him. The sun climbed higher. He didn't know how exactly Sehun had gotten his scar. He'd never asked. He'd heard about the great Oh who'd gotten in too deep and then somehow made it all go away and something to do with his son, and assumed the people Oh owed had tried to take Sehun's beauty. Not like that had worked. But the point was he'd never asked.

He'd never asked about New York, where Sehun had lived, if he'd liked it, if he'd liked Chicago better. He'd never asked if Sehun had ever tried to  _do_ anything about the drinking. Not that he'd ever been a great example himself, but it had clearly been more than a habit. There was so much he should have done as a boyfriend as a friend as someone who saw Sehun passing on the street and saw how skinny he was. The weight of it pressed against his eyes, against the rising sun, against the light filling the bathroom in cheerful brightness, surely lighting delightfully still on Sehun's skin. But Jongin didn't look.

Dried tears were crusted onto his cheeks and his sides ached a little—a lot—and the weight of all he should have done swirled around him in a nymph-like pressure. The sun didn't even hurt when it shone through the window, through the dew, into his eyes. His body didn't even have the energy to shudder. 


	20. Take Care

The sound of the door opening was like a gunshot in Jongin's ear, and his neck felt rusted when he turned it to see who was coming through the door. A faint pulse of suprise passed through him when he saw who it was.

"Jonginnie?" She stopped at the other side of the bathroom, body taught and tense, probably trying to give him space. Or maybe she was staying away from the presence so much stronger than him that still lay there in the bathtub. For a long time he couldn't find that place in his chest where words came from, so he just looked at her, like he'd looked at the sunset. She'd dyed her hair a shade lighter, and she was wearing less makeup then he'd ever seen her in. It made the roundness of her face stand out and the stress lines written into it look out of place.

He swallowed and it hurt. "I thought you were in Louisiana." His voice was monotone and dead and probably not loud enough for her to hear.

"I was his first emergency contact," she replied, still frozen. She wore old boyfriend jeans and a white t-shirt, an amusing contrast to the sharp black suit that probably stank as it sat on Jongin's body. He let his lips fall open, a little  _ah_ falling out. He could remember the words  _TAKE CARE OF HIM_  glowing on the screen and thought about how unnatural that light was compared to the light of the sunrise streaming in through the window. 

He could feel her scattered thinking. She wouldn't say  _what happened_ , she was smart enough to know he couldn't answer. She wouldn't say  _are you okay,_ he clearly wasn't. He hoped she wouldn't say  _I'm sorry_ , because she clearly was, and he dreaded those words, and the pitiable finality of them.

She didn't say any of those things. Instead, she closed her eyes, leaning against the door as if for support and then sinking down to her knees before sweeping those dark lashes upward again. "The floor is cold," she whispered. "You must be freezing." Her chin wobbled a little bit, and Jongin realized she wasn't looking at the bathtub either, just like him. Suddenly the comfortable numbness that had invaded his bones was just coldness and he couldn't sit with his back to the wall and his side to the bathtub and his knees to his chest anymore, not while she was sitting over there looking so broken, and those words glowed behind his eyelids:  _TAKE CARE OF HIM._

It was an ungraceful scramble, but he'd abandoned grace to another lifetime. It was all worth it when his arms went around her and he felt her trembling—her heat, her fear, her despair, her stress. It was intoxicatingly human, after a night of no company but his own, to run circles in his own head. He was inclined to love her just for that—for the gratification he got from hugging her as tightly as he could, and burying his head in her shoulder, and letting out a single, shuddering sob.

Her hands gripped his biceps like they'd give her life, but she stayed perfectly still, or as still as she could. He could still feel her heartbeat. "Jonginnie," she whispered, and his nerves stood on end at the breath of air that ghosted over his hands. "They need to take him. We've been holding them off as long as we could. How, um... how about a shower?" They were just words, but the fact that she had to say them, while they were like that, while he was like that, was incredibly intimate, so he just squeezed his eyes shut and nodded against her back. 

She began to sit forward to pull away, and he let her, even though it felt like the world falling away below him, all over again. When she was standing above him, and he was just studying the worn knees of her jeans, he finally thought of something to say. "I'm glad it was you." 

He had a little bit of his rumble back already, and he hated it. She didn't respond, just rapped once, twice on the door. It swung open again and two big hands came into view, one with a familiar rolex watch on it, and picked him up like he weighed nothing, which he probably did. Chanyeol smelled like weed and cigarettes and alcohol, and it reminded him of Sehun, and he closed his eyes tighter, wishing it was all a dream. He'd never felt younger or more helpless.

* * *

Norah Jones' quiet voice ushered him back into neon consciousness. Snuggled under what felt like a solid pile of blankets, the smell of coffee curling towards him, nothing seemed quite as bad as it had in his quiet, bleak nightmares. Especially when he looked beside him and saw Soojung again, her auburn hair splayed out around her, lying as if she intended to rise at any moment but was just resting her eyes. The gentle rise and fall of her chest told him she was fast asleep.

He watched her for a long time. Remembered that before Sehun, he hadn't had much of an attention span for anything except pool, but now he felt like he could watch her eyes move behind her eyelids forever. Remembered that before Sehun, he hadn't thought much of individual people—had sort of skipped across them like a smooth skipping stone, had admired beauty once and forgotten about it twice. But now the dip of her cupid's bow was a source of endless fascination, and the shadows under her eyes, and the curve of her ear.

The last thing she'd said. A shower. He finally looked around at the small bedroom he was in and deduced he must be in Chanyeol's apartment—the only place he could think of that was neon enough. Surprisingly clean, though. He slid from the covers carefully, immediately peeling off the offensive suit jacket and shirt before he even got to the bathroom.  _God_ , he wanted a hot shower.

It was even tall enough. That made sense, too, because if anything Chanyeol was even taller than him, but he remembered Sehun mumbling something once during shower sex about  _thank god the shower head's high enough cause we're both tall as fuck._  The scalding water felt like a baptism, and Jongin never wanted to leave, focusing there on how good the water felt running over his skin, which felt like one big bruise even though he was pretty sure he hadn't gotten in any fights recently. swamp and luminous

He jumped a knock at the door. "You okay in there?" Soojung's voice sounded tired but concerned.

"Uh—yeah!" he called back. It sounded harsh and loud, but she didn't call into him again. He sighed and bid goodbye to the water, which was itself struggling to stay hot enough.  _Maybe if he hadn't taken so long to get back to the hotel, he could've been the one asking at the door, and he could've noticed something wrong..._

Jongin toweled his head and emptied his thoughts. When he came out with a towel around his waist, Soojung was in silk pajama pants and a tank top and held out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for him, saying he might have to roll up the jeans once because they were Chanyeol's. She turned around for him to change and then collapsed on the bed with him, laughing when he muttered that all that had been a lot of work. 

A thin, hardy chord of grief connected them, the kind that had already come and stormed and left shells of people but that was okay because they had the chord so they didn't really need much inside anyway. Jongin's insides were full of Sehun anyways. 

"Where's Chanyeol?"

"Dealing with his parents, and the funeral and everything. I've seen him, like twice since last night." She twisted in bed, so her hips were still facing him but her face was facing away from him so she could look at the clock. "It's almost two now. We should probably get food before we waste away." She sighed.

He understood. "Surviving is such a bother," he muttered, then realized what he'd just said, and felt guilty. It didn't seem to make Soojung feel strangely, though, so he shrugged the guilt off forcefully.

"Don't you want to  _talk_ about it?" Soojung asked then, twisting back around so they were looking at each other, almost the same position Jongin and Sehun always liked, in the middle of the night, when they'd talk about stupid things that didn't matter.  _Shove it off._

Talk about it.

Did he want to talk about it?

"God, do I want to talk about it." He wanted to fill the room with words: big words, small ones, stupid ones and startlingly prescient ones. Svelte words that rolled off his tongue and made his eyes sparkle, broken words that made his throat catch and his hands curl into fists. He wanted them to wash over him like a blanket or a fresh sunrise, he wanted to taste them as they arrived in his mind like morning dew, he wanted to  _talk about it._ He was a hustler, after all, and talking was what he  _did._

"Okay." Soojung's weak smile was... pretty. He said so. "Thank you. You know, you've always had a certain way of speaking your mind," Soojung said. "It's seductive, I think it's why I had a crush on you in the first place. It's this misdirect because you've got people paying attention to what you're saying and not why or what you really mean. You must be an amazing hustler."

"Hustling is a dying profession." Jongin sighed. "I didn't tell him for a while after I met him, did you know that? I was ashamed of it, felt like a criminal. I think that was probably Junmyeon's fault, because he was so... he was such a good person. Hustling never really fit with him. He channeled all his goodness into me, into making me happy, and ignored everything else. So. That was the first person I ruined. Hustling ruined. I don't know. Sometimes I want to blame hustling, sometimes I want to blame myself."

"Well, you are, kind of, a criminal. Just one really good with your words who doesn't technically break any laws." Soojung smiled gently. "The best kind of criminal."

"Sehun didn't deserve to be pulled into it."

"Sehun made his own decisions. You're not stupid, Jongin. You saw that he was getting better. You must have. He was  _happier_  even when I was with you—and that was when he was all broody because you had wanderlust."

"He used to do this thing," said Jongin. "He used to stop in the middle of sex—literally hold me off, sometimes, and take a prim little sip of his drink, or a short, strong drag of his joint, and then pull me back." Jongin smiled fondly. "I kind of judged how stressed he was by how often he did it. And that last week... he barely did it at all, Soojung. I have no idea what happened." Jongin turned onto his back so he was staring up at the pebbled ceiling. "There was so much I have no idea about, Soojung. I'm too much of a smartass."

"Well, what do you want to know?" She replied. He turned his head to look at her skeptically. "What? I suspect I'm a little more curious than you, and whatever you might think, we only hooked up that once. He was just jealous about Kyungsoo." Soojung sighed. "There were only ever three people who could get under his skin. No, make it four, actually, counting you. His dad, Soo Man, you, and Kyungsoo. And I guess Kyungsoo was just an auxiliary of you."

"You're just proving my point. I should never have come back to Chicago. I can't believe you convinced me to do it."

"I didn't convince you of anything. You wanted to. And he told me—no, literally Jongin, fucking look at me." Her face was serious, like she was worried he wouldn't believe her. "He  _told_ me, over the phone, that he wanted you to come back, too. Said he accidentally played Siren to you."

"'Played Siren?'" Jongin repeated. "You  _are_ a hustler, aren't you? I've only ever heard hustlers use that term. Do you even know what it means? Does Sehun even know what it means?"

"Playing Siren is like playing Shark, but without actually breaking up and coming back. You drift away and wait for the mark to come to you. Listen, I told you I understood your world. You have to at least believe that much if we're really going to talk."

"We've been talking."

"Have we?" Soojung raised an eyebrow.

"I thought we were."

"I'm not sure." Soojung's eyes looked like crystals. "What happened, Jongin? You haven't mentioned the elephant in the room once." Jongin was silent, and she clenched her jaw. Then, between her teeth, she said, "Soo Man. Lee fucking Soo Man. He was hanging out outside your hotel room when I got there, looking, oh, I don't know, mildly worried? Like he'd broken an expensive vase? While you were curled up dying in the bathroom with your dead boyfriend?"

Jongin let out a shaky breath. "Okay, okay, I get it, no need to get graphic, Soojung."

"Maybe it would help jog your memo—"

"I told him off. I told him off that night. Look, I'd been trying to be diplomatic, because I needed Soo Man to get in on the action and the money but I needed Sehun... I needed Sehun. But he pushed even me too far, and look, I didn't think that was possible. But I'm not a machine. He made me yell at Sehun. He didn't make me. I don't know." He looked at Soojung, an irrational fear of judgment blooming and at once quashed by the impassive, attentive openness of her face. "Got a smoke?"

Soojung twisted in that fascinating way again and retrieved cigarettes and a lighter from the side table, handing one to Jongin and lighting it for him. He sighed as the nicotine entered his system. Chanyeol's shirt really was incredible soft. He'd have to ask the guy how he'd gotten it that way. But Soojung was watching him still, waiting for him to continue.

"Sehun went back to the hotel early, and I finished my job. Then Soo Man... he went back..." Jongin's mind rebelled; of course he  _knew_ what had happened, but he barely wanted to tell himself, much less Soojung. The words forced themselves out regardless, content to spill from him until he had no words left. "Soo Man drove back and I walked. I was pretty fucked up. I mean, I'm rich as hell now, but I was fucked up and I needed a minute. Soo Man got back early and he must have said something to Sehun. Either that or I broke Sehun all on my own." The last sentence was a bitter one.

"You didn't break him," Soojung scoffed. "You might not have helped him, and listen, it will take me a while to forgive you for that, but you didn't break him. He... um." Soojung shrugged. "You didn't break him."

"You already said that."

"I'm sure of it, though."

"Did you know both you and Chanyeol texted me to take care of him last week? Almost the same exact message, too, like you, his best friends, like you just fucking..." Jongin's hands tried to clutch something in the air that wasn't there. "Like you knew something I didn't."

"We both did, hm?" Soojung's eyelashes flicked downward as she watched the smoke curling from her cigarette. "You know, I don't think he thought he had any friends. He told me about whenever you got your casts off—another dumbass thing which I will not gripe at you for just this moment—and Taemin left, and Taemin told him to take care of you. Because you and Taemin are apparently  _besties_." She slithered a little closer to him, the word dripping with skepticism. "And he told me he was jealous that you had a best friend who would do that for you. Or care about you that much."

"That's ridiculous," replied Jongin. "You and Chanyeol pester—pestered—me all the time about him! Everyone loves—d—him. You know who even loved him? Cold-ass Yoongi."

Soojung shrugged. "You should know as well as anyone how confusing it can be to know which friendships are superficial when you're a hustler. It is a shame though." She frowned. "I told him I loved him, like, every day. I did, I'm not a liar or anything."

A startled laugh erupted from Jongin's mouth. She looked at him in suprise, and he quieted. "I like how you talk," he said, as explanation. "You must be an amazing hustler. And I have no idea where you got so wise."

It felt like he was in the room with them, legs crossed at the bottom of the bed, his favorite skinny jeans pasted to his legs, white t-shirt looking designer how it fell on his shoulders, watching them with dancing eyes as they talked about him and smoked. Jongin wanted to talk to  _him_. He wanted to be able to get down on his knees and beg forgiveness. He wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to hear his voice. All the things he wanted threatened to overwhelm him, and he wondered how long mourning would last, or if it was forever, and if it was just a matter of not thinking about it too hard.

When she spoke again, he realized they'd gone a long time without talking. "What're you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"When Soo Man comes for you again."

Jongin smiled morbidly. "When Soo Man comes for me? Rip his heart from his chest and make him eat it."

She  _tsk tsk tsked_ him. "Jonginnie." He liked that name. He liked it when Sehun called him  _nini_ , but he liked the way  _Jonginnie_ rolled off her tongue.

"I take it you have a plan, then." And she smiled, as a response.

* * *

The Evans Poolroom looked familiar, with its big oak doors and the cascade of glass perched on top of it. The inside was smoky as ever, and since Jongin arrived later in the day than he had the last time he was here, there was someone at almost every table. The room was full of the peaceful clack of eight-balls and the dull murmur of conversation, and Jongin wondered why he didn't hate pool now, after everything it had done to him.

Everyone watched him out of the corner of their eyes, as hustlers do, as he walked through the poolroom to the bar, where he ordered a club soda, much to the chagrin of the bartender. He flashed the man a winning smile, knowing what it would do. Of course word of what had happened would have gotten back to here by now. That is, whatever twisted version Soo Man had deigned to tell.

It was easy enough to guess. A smashing job, a wrecked Baekhyun, a cash-rich Jongin. Maybe word had trickled through of an overdosed sidepiece. Jongin was probably royalty now. He was probably what he'd always wanted to be. By the way he saw Ten copying the way he took his cue out of its case, and chalked it, he knew that he wasn't far off his mark. He could get the dirtier rumors from Timoteo whenever he needed to, he knew. But for now, he felt like there was nothing wrong with leaving a little bit of mystery in the world. The only mystery that mattered had a funeral tomorrow, and was probably lying in a cold morgue somewhere right now with a tag on its toe.

"Back so soon?" A velvety voice drifted towards him and Jongin turned from his table to see Chicago Shortie walking towards him. In this establishment, with that three-piece suit on, that was who he was through and through, barely a speck of Kyungsoo to be seen drifting in the specks of light brown drifting in Shortie's eyes. "I heard you had a pretty good run in Atlantic City. Thought you'd stay longer than I did."

"Running away from me?" Jongin replied, grinning. "You won't get off so easy. I don't forget, and I especially don't forget embarrassments like our match."  _You don't know how much that match started._ _You don't know how many times I've envisioned beating you._

Shortie shrugged. "I had a feeling you'd be back here." He gestured to the poolroom. "I've been making as much as I can in the meantime. Running them raw. None of them will touch me at this point."

 _I'll touch you._  He'd left himself open for it, and Jongin would have said it, once upon a time. But he pressed his lips together and just raised an eyebrow, saw Kyungsoo take note of his restraint and then dismiss it.

"Kim Jongin, back and ready to go! I have to say, I'm impressed. Any hustler of a lesser caliber would be coked out of his mind right now." Jongin stiffened but forced himself not to lash out, instead turning stiffly to face Soo Man.

"How're the nuts?" Jongin asked, by way of greeting, relishing the wince from Soo Man at the memory. 

"Just fine," Soo Man replied. "Still capable, if you know what I mean." He winked, and Jongin smiled sardonically. "I want to know how you've been! What've you been doing with your newfound fortune?"

"Recovering from the tragic death of my boyfriend whom I loved very much." Jongin spoke evenly and didn't look away from Soo Man once. The man had the presence of mind to look a little bit uncomfortable.

"Son, I'm sure it wasn't as serious as all—"

"I told you not to call me son. Really, it doesn't make me feel closer to you, I promise. It just annoys me." 

"Well, alright." Soo Man frowned, confused. "Ready to play, I take it? What about you, Shortie? Will you be okay without me on your team?"

Kyungsoo smiled blandly. "I think I'm looking forward to it," he said. Jongin looked at him, suprised. It was barely ballsy, more passive-agressive, but still, Jongin hadn't expected it from him. 

"Well, let's play, then," Jongin said, setting up the balls. "Two hundred on the first game." Soo Man didn't correct him, which meant he was a little bit desperate. Soo Man always started betting at one hundred if he could help it.

The balls met, and the balls sank.

"You're not even trying." Jongin pouted. Shortie just chuckled, leaning on his cue.

"It's not that I'm not trying, it's that you're that much better than me. You've got confidence this time around, Jongin."

It didn't make him happy to hear it. Kyungsoo's voice didn't make things stir in him anymore. It was just something pleasant to listen to.  _There were only ever three people who could get under his skin. No, make it four._

The crowd surrounding their match was perhaps the largest Jongin had ever had, even if it was only the second—or even third—most important match he'd ever played. Men and women in evening clothes leered and tumbled over each other to get a good look of who was taking what shot, and exclamations went up at every impressive shot made. Side bets were made on side bets on side bets. Kyungsoo whispered,  _It feels like the twenties in here_. He nodded his head in agreement and sank another shot.

Neither of them drank, and Jongin kept it to two cigarettes.

It was over in the blink of an eye, really. Much faster than the last match. Everyone seemed sort of suprised that Jongin had won with so much swift grace. Everyone except Soo Man, who seemed louder than he ever had, sedentary on his customary stool, collecting money systematically with a smirk plastered on his face. 

The last game, Jongin just stared at the bills Kyungsoo handed to him, then at Soo Man, then back at the bills. Slowly, intentionally, he lifted his eyes to meet Soo Man's, and he slipped the bills into his own pocket.

The gasp in the room was audible. Even Kyungsoo froze, his eyes getting wide. Jongin realized that Kyungsoo could probably be very, very cute if he wanted to. Soo Man himself had his mouth hanging open in a rare show of utter stupefaction. Then, "Jongin, the money."

"No."

" _No?_ I'm your manager. Give me my cut." Jongin had to try not to laugh at how petulant Soo Man really sounded. He knew it was stupid to find it funny; Soo Man was perhaps the most powerful figure in the hustling world. Still—it was a brief surge of power, of fighting the power, and it set his dead, grieving veins on fire.

"No."

" _No?"_ Soo Man rose from his stool and people fell away from him as he stalked towards Jongin. "Let's not be a brat in front of so many people. It's fine when we're alone, but in public, I expect a modicum of decorum. Be a gentleman and give me my cut."

Soo Man's cut was half again what Soo Man had collected throughout the night; Jongin had arranged the betting that way. What he was doing was insisting on walking away with a majority of his winnings, something no hustler and manager had ever done, as far as he knew. He clenched his jaw. He couldn't rip out Soo Man's heart and feed it to him, but he didn't have to bow to him, didn't have to become a souless tool of making money, a faceless object that just handed him money and money and  _that's it._  

"Jongin." Soo Man's voice was dangerously low, and Jongin swallowed and reminded himself that he had nothing left to lose. Absolutely nothing. "You've been on probation once. Act up again and you know it's expulsion. I know how much you love playing. I've seen it in the way you caress that shitty cue you always carry around.  _Give me my cut_."

Jongin swallowed. Okay—he did have something left to lose.  _Hustling._

If someone asked him who he was, and he had felt inclined to answer them honestly, Jongin would answer hustler. He would've answered them  _hustler_ since he was fifteen and first met Taemin and started it all. Twins: Sehun, his heart, and hustling, his soul. It was pathetic, he thought. The things that made him Jongin seemed so easy to take away.

"Jongin, I'm waiting."  _Expulsion._  It hung in the air and sank like sour milk.

"You won't expel him." A deep voice had the crowd turning their heads towards the doors, towards a head of silver hair that seemed to float above everyone. Chanyeol strode forward, his leather jacket shining under the poolroom lights, his hair dyed silver right down to the roots. "You won't expel him and you won't take the money, either. You're going to let Jongin do whatever the fuck he wants, you murderous pig."

Soo Man stood for a moment in stunned silence—with Jongin, who stared at him with equal amazement. Then Soo Man said, "I don't think anyone has dared insult me like that before."

"I hope it's not the last time," Chanyeol thundered. Jongin had never really thought about Chanyeol as threatening before, but he looked it now. Then the door opened again, and it was Soojung's auburn hair this time, drifting forward in a stunning green chiffon gown to glower at Soo Man. Beside her floated a woman in a pale pink gown who Jongin could only assume was her sister. 

Then the door opened again, and Timoteo strode forward, his eyebrows drawn together. He gave Jongin a curt nod, and crossed his arms, setting his legs comically apart.

Then the door opened again, and Yoongi stalked in, hair dyed black, a choker wrapped around his throat, and his icy silence filled the room.

Then the door opened again, and by this time Jongin had to lean back against the pool table for support.  _Was this where Chanyeol had been all that time, when Jongin had been wondering where he was, when he'd suspected Soojung was just trying to distract him?_

Taemin led the group, sharp and imposing, hair white-blonde, in a pure-white suit and shining black shoes, hands in his pockets, earrings tinkling from his ears. Next to him stalked Jiho, tall and solid. He still reminded Jongin of a tiger, even after all this time. His hair was a dark brown now, instead of the blond it had been when he'd left Japan, and he had more tattoos. But the danger snapping in his eyes was the same. And on the other side prowled Key, another kind of dangerous, quietly feline, but, in Jongin's experience, even more perilous than Jiho's wildness.

Soo Man swore under his breath. Chanyeol—who stood at the head of the group, to Jongin's suprise, considering the renown of some of his company—crossed his arms. "Sehun isn't the first career—or life—you've ruined, Soo Man."

"If you're trying to stage a coup, it won't work," Soo Man replied, his voice rough. His eyes were darting back and forth nervously.

"Oh, we're not. We're not  _politik-minded_ enough for that," Chanyeol replied. "We're hustlers. Hustlers are criminals at heart, and criminals are all thugs. All we want is an eye for an eye." He took a casual step forward, and Soo Man stumbled back a few steps. "A thumb for a thumb." Chanyeol's eyes flashed. "Maybe a bloody nose in place of the death will do. And Jongin's utter freedom."

A surprisingly high laugh from the tippy-top of Soo Man's throat. "That's all? You're going to beat me up? I know who you are," he said, rounding on Jiho, but Jiho's face was stony and gave away nothing. "You don't know how much political capital you're risking coming here. You could at least have sent someone less well-known. You—" Jiho growled at him, and he shut up.

"That's up to Jongin." Soojung inserted herself smoothly.

When Soo Man sat slumped against the pool table in the back, and the crowd was gone, and his nose was bloody and his thumbs were broken, Soojung looked to Jongin from her perch where she'd been watching the events. "You know, we might be thugs, but you have refined senses when you want to," she told him. "It's up to you."

_Up to him._

He looked into Soo Man's eyes and didn't see hate. He saw terror. He saw fear so deeply ingrained it had twisted into every emotion imaginable, but under it all, it was the same terror. But it wasn't even the kind of terror one could respect. "No," he said, for the last time that night. "I want him to live the life he's always been meant to, pursuing the higher high. I want him to live alone and lonely with his cowardice."

It was an odd circle of hustlers, gathered there to see the correction of power in the Evans poolroom. Jongin knew it wasn't nearly enough. He knew he'd miss Sehun's voice. The feel of Sehun's hand in his. The feel of Sehun sitting in his lap, of his lips. The way Sehun pulled his hair. Sehun's smile, and his laugh, and the little sounds he made while he was asleep. 

But he could see a way to rebuild his heart. Saw it would start with the understanding in Soojung's eyes, and the familiarity with which they already treated each other, and they way they already slept curled in each other's arms at night, like they were warding off ghosts of the past. It could continue, maybe, with indulging his wanderlust, and maybe hanging out with Taemin and Timoteo some more, and worrying about money less. He was sure he'd never worry about money again. If he ever did he'd remember that particular fight, and his stomach would twist, and instead he'd be pulled into the riptide of memories of the life he'd wasted smoking and fucking and hustling and not doing nearly enough  _loving._

He knew they didn't know he could hear them as they retrieved their coats as he waited outside for them. But he listened anyway. "Take care of him, yeah?" That was Chanyeol's deep voice. "It wasn't really his fault, not any of it."

"Only if you take care of Taemin and them. And don't become friends too quickly. They like to haze." Those were Soojung's light tones.

"Only a little bit. We only haze a little bit." Taemin's breezy voice. "Take care, Soojung."

"Take care." 

And Soojung emerged from the coatroom pulling, annoyed, at a long grey raincoat, because the night outside was balmy and the walk sure to be pleasant back to the apartment Jongin and Soojung had decided was really the best place to go, now. Summer was almost here.

* * *

seahorse's note: That's it. I can't believe it. That's... wow, that's it. Let me know if you want an epilogue. I already have a special smut chapter possibility, maybe. But maybe I'll take a break from this fic. It's certainly been a rollercoaster. Thanks to all my subscribers, and most especially to everyone who commented! I read them when I need motivation to write, I read them over and over again.  _Especial_  thanks to commenters who commented regularly—y'all keep me going.


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